Flight of the Sparrow
by Eledhwen
Summary: Jack Sparrow, from cabin boy to captain, child to man. Chapter 32: mutiny.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:** not mine - unlike the characters I'm borrowing, I'm not a pirate.   
  
**Author's note:** Well, here I be, stepping gingerly out of the comfort zone of LOTR and Buffy (my usual fandoms) into the exciting world of Pirates. Avast! Or something. Anyway, please let me know what you think.  
  
Thanks to Erin for help in working out what sort of ship the Black Pearl probably is (if she isn't a bark, then she's probably a frigate, and if not either of them, my guess is a brig.) For pretty pictures of a bark, have a look at the BarkEndeavour.au site - that ship is a beautiful replica of Captain Cook's ship. Also, I pinched the name (only the name) of my captain from Arthur Ransome's _Swallows and Amazons_, a series of books which were favourites when I was a lot younger than I am now.  
  
Now, on with the show, me hearties! (This pirate jargon's awfully good fun!)_  
  
----  
  
Jack woke with a bump, and found himself sprawled on a damp wooden floor that seemed to be moving. He sat up, rubbing the side of his head, and blinked in the darkness.  
  
It took him a moment to remember where he was and what he was doing there, but when he did he groaned, and not just from the pain in his head. Whatever had possessed him to beg work on a ship as a cabin boy? More to the point, whatever had possessed him to choose this particular ship?  
  
It had anchored out in Portsmouth harbour a week since, a weatherbeaten bark with ragged sails. Its crew, when they rowed ashore, were dubious characters at best, and gossip said that though they claimed to be merchants, they were more likely to be pirates. Maybe it had been that element of mystery and excitement that had made Jack go and ask the captain (a bearded fellow in a filthy hat) if he could join the crew.  
  
The captain had looked at him from over a tankard of ale, critically.  
  
"How old are you?"  
  
"Ten," Jack said, drawing himself up to his full height.  
  
"And are ye not apprenticed already?"  
  
"To my father - he's a carpenter," Jack explained.  
  
Putting his tankard down, the captain reached out and pinched Jack's right bicep. "Skinny lad, aren't you? Why leave your dad?"  
  
"He doesn't care about me," Jack said. "He'd rather I weren't there, anyway. I know a bit about ships, sir - I've always wanted to go to sea."  
  
"You need to know more'n a bit to sail under me, lad," the captain said. "But you seem bright enough, and I could do with another hand on deck. All right. You're hired. Board and lodging, what there is of both, and some of whatever ... profit ... we make. Meet me and the lads at six tomorrow to go aboard. We're sailing on the evening tide."   
  
Jack had grinned at the captain before hurrying away to pack his few belongings together. All the next day he worked harder than ever before for his father, and bade him a cheerful good evening when the carpenter downed tools to go to the tavern. Jack ran upstairs to his little room to fetch his bundle, left a badly-written note on a scrap of paper to explain where he was, and hurried out.  
  
The captain and some of his men were waiting by a boat as Jack ran up, gasping apologies for his tardiness. Just then a clock in the town sounded six o'clock, and the captain laughed.  
  
"You're not late, lad. We're early, is all. Hop aboard and we'll be off - there's that tide to catch."  
  
Jack followed the men into the skiff, and perched in the bow whilst the crew took up their sweeps and started pulling for the ship out in the harbour. The captain gave soft, firm orders about direction: "Pull harder to starboard. Even. Stroke hard on port. Gentle now." As they came up to the ship, he whistled sharply. "Easy oars."  
  
The crew lifted their sweeps from the rowlocks and the boat glided in to come to rest by the side of the larger ship. A rope ladder was flung down, and one by one they climbed up. Jack watched as the skiff was hauled on deck after the men, clutching his bundle.  
  
Moving quickly to the helm, the captain began giving orders briskly, and with wide eyes Jack saw the sails raised. Softly the ship slipped out towards open sea, the water gurgling under her hull.  
  
The captain left a man at the helm, and came to find his newest crew member.  
  
"Well, lad, welcome aboard the _Black Pearl_. Now, I didn't catch your name."  
  
"Jack Sparrow," said Jack, waiting for the inevitable guffaw that came whenever he told anyone his surname.  
  
Nodding, the captain clapped him on the shoulder. "A good name, young Jack. I'm Captain Flint. I won't ask you to work this evening, but tomorrow you can start to learn the ropes." He turned, and called in the direction of some of the crew. "Bootstrap!" A slim figure detached itself from the group and came quickly to them. "This is our new cabin boy - find him a hammock, will you?"  
  
"Aye, sir." The man named Bootstrap nodded in a friendly way at Jack.  
  
Captain Flint smiled a mouthful of golden teeth. "Ye'll do well, if you listen, lad. Go and rest. You'll need it."  
  
"Aye, captain," Jack said, and felt like a proper seaman. The captain laughed, and went off towards the helm.  
  
Bootstrap headed towards a hatch in the deck. "You've a name?"  
  
"Jack Sparrow," Jack said again. His companion held out a hand.  
  
"Bill Turner, though usually I'm called Bootstrap, or Bootstrap Bill."  
  
Jack shook the hand. Bill Turner was a young, athletic man with dark hair and an easy manner. He led the boy down a ladder into the dim bowels of the ship.  
  
"Galley's over there - we eat at eight bells."  
  
Wondering what time eight bells was, Jack nodded sagely and followed Bootstrap further into the ship's belly.  
  
"Here's where we sleep - here, you take this corner. Got a hammock?"  
  
"No," Jack said.  
  
"That's all right, we've a spare." Bill rummaged in a locker and produced what looked like a net. He proceeded to string it up between two beams. "There. Cap'n'll put you in a watch, tomorrow as like as not. You'll soon get used to it, lad."  
  
Jack nodded, feeling a bit lost and very small. Bill Turner grinned kindly at him.  
  
"There's some time till supper and bed. Come back up on deck when you've sorted your kit out, and you'll see Merry England slipping away from you. We've a fair wind, and the _Pearl_ under full sail is a sight."  
  
"Thank you," Jack said. Bootstrap nodded, and disappeared back towards the ladder. Jack turned to his bundle, and found places to hang or stow his few belongings. Then, with a dubious look at the hammock, he felt his way back on deck.  
  
The wind was blowing fresh and strong, and the _Black Pearl_'s sails were filled. Jack settled himself in a quiet spot towards the port bow, and watched as the coast of his home disappeared on the horizon. Briefly, he wondered what his father would think when he returned home to find Jack gone, but the thought was soon out of his mind as the canvas above his head snapped in the breeze and the water under the _Pearl_'s hull rushed past. Jack tipped his head back and closed his eyes, a smile on his lips. 


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** Thanks for the nice cheery reviews, much appreciated._  
  
----  
  
It was Jack's first morning at sea. Still rubbing his bruised head, he made his way up the ladder and out on to deck.  
  
There was a thin line of land still on the right-hand side of the ship, and Jack shaded his eyes to see. A shadow fell across the sunlit deck beside him, and he looked up to see Captain Flint grinning a gilded grin in his direction.  
  
"Taking your last look at England, Jack?"  
  
"Aye, sir."  
  
"We'll be out of the Channel by midday," the captain said. "And then it's open water all the way. D'ye get sea-sick?"  
  
"I don't reckon so," Jack said thoughtfully. "Few times I've been on the sea, I've been fine."  
  
"Good lad," Captain Flint said. "Now, I'll pass you over to me second mate, here, and he'll start teaching you what you need to know. You're in his watch."  
  
Jack nodded, but he was thinking of something the captain had just said. "All the way to where, cap'n?"  
  
Flint laughed, long and loud and cheerful. "Why, to the Caribbean, young Sparrow. The West Indies."  
  
"The New World," Jack breathed.  
  
"Warm weather, and blue seas," the captain said. "You'll like it. Thornton!"  
  
The second mate came over to them. "Aye, cap'n?"  
  
"Take our new lad under your wing, Thornton - show him what to do, give him some jobs."   
  
"Glad to, cap'n," Thornton said. Jack thanked the captain, and followed the second mate across the ship. "Sparrow, isn't it?" Thornton asked.  
  
Jack looked up at the man, a burly, bronzed sailor in blue and white stripes, and nodded.  
  
"Right, then," the mate continued. "There's a deal of work to be done aboard a vessel this size, but you cannot do it all at once. We'll have you up the rigging afore the year's out, but for now, can you mop the decks for me?"  
  
He gave Jack the mop, and gestured at a bucket. "When t'bucket's mucky, tip it over the side and fill it up again. Cap'n Flint likes his decks shiny."  
  
"Shiny. Right," said Jack, rolling up his sleeves.  
  
Thornton nodded. "Off you go, then, lad."  
  
From that moment on, Jack felt he was busy every moment of every day. He spent hours just cleaning the _Pearl_ - mopping her decks, coiling ropes, caulking and tarring cracks, mending sails and nets. When he wasn't cleaning, tidying or mending, he was being taught how to sail. He hauled on ropes, and learnt that they were called "sheets"; he climbed the rigging, metre by metre until he could get to the top of the mainmast without feeling dizzy; he learnt what a bell was and when it rang. When he was not needed for some duty, he sat in a corner and tied bits of string together, learning seamen's knots. And he got to know the crew.  
  
He learnt that Captain Flint was a hard taskmaster, but a kindly man who looked after his men and did not give unfair punishment. The first mate, an Italian called Roberto, spoke awful English but could steer the ship nearly as well as the captain.  
  
Thornton, the second mate and Jack's teacher, was a gruff Yorkshireman who had begun his life sailing fishing boats and collier brigs out of Whitby. At some point he had found his way south and on to the _Black Pearl_, and, as he himself put it, had never looked back.  
  
The rest of the men were an assorted bunch of sailors by birth and sailors by accident, all with years of experience under their ragged belts. Jack found he got on best with Bootstrap Bill Turner, who always spared a kindly word for the boy, but none of the men were unfriendly.  
  
However nobody really spoke about the business of the ship, and though Jack thought he could guess, his guesses went unconfirmed until they were three weeks from England.  
  
He was halfway up the foremast, being taught how to reef a sail, when the lookout shouted down from the crow's nest.  
  
"Sail HO!"  
  
Captain Flint pulled out a battered telescope and peered through it, before tipping his head back and calling: "What sort of sail?"  
  
"Merchant. Spanish!" came the cry.   
  
"Put out the Ensign!" Flint shouted, and someone ran to pull out a flag from a locker. Soon it was flying from the stern, the colours of His Majesty's Navy blowing proudly in the wind. Jack climbed down from his perch, as some of the men disappeared below and re-emerged tying sashes around their waists, knife and sword hilts sticking out ready for use.  
  
Jack felt a wave of excitement course through his body. Bill Turner came up to him, grinning.  
  
"Have you got a knife, Jack?"  
  
"No."  
  
Bootstrap handed him a small but razor-sharp knife. "Take this. Better safe than sorry, eh?"  
  
Thornton hurried to them. "Bootstrap, get to your position. Jack, lad, can you coil the grappling irons and get them ready for use?"  
  
"Aye, sir," Jack said, his heart beating even faster.  
  
He settled to coiling the ropes attached to the sharp grappling irons, every now and then looking up. He could see they were gaining on the merchant vessel ahead of them, the _Pearl_ carving through the water. Several times her crew had boasted to him that she was one of the fastest ships afloat, and for the first time Jack believed them.  
  
Captain Flint was at the helm, guiding his ship with the lightest of touches so that her sails were filled with all the wind there was. Only a few of the crew were moving, standing by the sheets in case of an order from their captain. The rest of the men had gathered on deck, silent. Jack coiled his last rope and went to join them.  
  
Thornton laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Now, you stay aboard the _Pearl_, right? No heroics now, there'll be more than enough time for that when you're older." He handed Jack a spar. "But take this, lad, should anyone try to board us - whack him over the head. That'll stop any man. Right?"  
  
"Right." Jack nodded, gripping his spar. Thornton smiled, briefly.   
  
"You'll be right, Jack."  
  
Jack found a spot for himself out of the way, the heavy spar resting on the deck. They were within hailing distance of the merchant vessel now, and he could read her name, picking out the letters slowly. "S ... A ... N ... T ... A," he read to himself. "C ... L ... A ... R ... A. Santa Clara."  
  
As the bow of the _Black Pearl_ came to overlap the stern of the _Santa Clara_, Flint called an order from the helm, and one of the men raced to the stern and the Ensign came rippling down. In moments it was replaced. Jack found himself grinning nervously as the black flag spread in the wind, grinning like the skull emblazoned on it.  
  
"_Piratas_!" someone cried from aboard the merchant vessel.  
  
"Grappling irons!" the first mate Roberto called, and the _Pearl_'s men each took one of Jack's ropes, even as the ship swung in close to the merchant vessel. Jack saw that aboard the other ship chaos reigned, with men hurrying around, all shouting different things in Spanish. "Now, gentlemen!" Roberto ordered, and with shouts and cheers the grappling irons were thrown, catching on the side of the merchant ship. The men of the _Pearl_ swung themselves across the gap. Someone screamed, and a shot rang out, smoke puffing into the air.  
  
There were more shouts, the clash of steel, and Jack saw with a horrified thrill one of the merchant sailors fall, a bloom of red on his shirt.  
  
Roberto started calling orders, and soon the crew of the other vessel were gathered in a silent, sullen group, guarded by five of the pirates with swords and a couple of pistols. The rest of the _Black Pearl_'s men had split up and seemed to be searching the ship, and soon reappeared, their arms full of loot.  
  
"Jack!" Bill Turner was waving from the other deck. "Catch this, can you?" He lobbed a small sack across to Jack, who caught it and set it aside. Soon he was darting from side to side, catching the loot that could be thrown. The pile on the deck of the _Pearl_ grew, and shortly some of the pirates came back to their ship to field the heavier items. In less than half an hour the grappling irons were released, and the men of the _Black Pearl_ waved cheerfully at the Spaniards as they glared helplessly, bound quickly with ropes. Soon the merchant ship was a small shape on the horizon, and Captain Flint was examining the gains.  
  
Jack stood and watched as the men counted coins and sorted the rest of the booty into piles - food, drink, textiles, and precious stones and jewellery. Each of them chose something small from the pile, tucking it away into a pocket.  
  
"You too, lad," Captain Flint invited, glancing over at Jack.  
  
"But I didn't do anything," Jack said.  
  
"You've worked hard these past weeks," the captain returned. "Learned well. Come on, young Sparrow - some coins, something you can put aside for when you're older."  
  
Jack came over to the pile of loot, and picked through it for a few moments. Finally he held a few silver pieces in his hand, and a silver necklace. Flint nodded his approval, and threw him a length of red fabric as well.  
  
"Use it as a belt, or for your head," he suggested. Jack ran it through his fingers, grinned, and tied it around his hair.  
  
Bootstrap came up behind him and straightened the scarf out. "Suits you, Jack. So what did you think of your first raid?"  
  
Jack put his coins in his pocket. "When's the next one?"  
  
Flint threw his head back and laughed. "Aye, I knew we'd make a pirate of ye yet!"  
  
The crew joined in the laughter, and Jack did too. As he began to help the men carry the booty down to the hold, he thought to himself that he would not only be a pirate, but a good pirate. In fact, not only a good pirate, but a pirate captain - Captain Jack Sparrow. He would have a ship like the _Black Pearl_, and all would fear him.  
  
----  
  
TBC. 


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** I'm making a logical guess here that Jack's wonderful term "savvy" comes from the French "savoir", "to know". It would therefore have been in common use round Tortuga and its large neighbour Haïti, both French colonies. The Online Etymological Dictionary (etymonline.com) confirms the guess, though records the date of usage as 1785 - long after this story's set. Mind you, in so many other ways Captain Sparrow's a forward-thinking kind of guy ..._   
  
----  
  
"Lower the anchor!" Captain Flint called. The anchor chain rattled as it unwound, and the ship shifted as it caught on the seabed.  
  
Jack leaned over the port rail, gazing at the green land before him. There were palm trees and other strange plants, climbing up a steep slope and a golden beach upon which the waves broke. The sky above was a brilliant, bright blue and it was hot and sunny.  
  
Bill Turner came to lean next to him. "Lovely, ain't it?"  
  
"It's a sight," Jack agreed.  
  
The crossing had been long, and at times arduous. The raid on the Spanish merchant ship, the _Santa Clara_, had been by far the easiest of the voyage. Other ships they had come upon had been better prepared, and better armed. Several of the pirates had been injured, and a brush with a Dutch vessel had led to the death of "Jolly" Roger Andrews, a long-serving member of Flint's crew. Andrews had been a cheerful man, always ready with a joke, and the _Pearl_'s men felt his loss keenly. They had cast his body overboard, weighed down with cannonballs from the stash of loot, and then had several drinks in his honour.  
  
It was not Jack's first experience of death, by any means. But it was his first close encounter with violent, bloody death, and over the next weeks he kept waking with an image of Andrews's disfigured corpse in his mind.  
  
And then there had been the storms, in which even Jack had had to climb the rigging to hastily reef as many sails as possible to prevent them being ripped off the masts. The _Black Pearl_ tipped and tossed in the waves, her decks awash with water. Afterwards they usually found a fresh leak somewhere, and the captain talked of taking her out of the water when they finally reached port to have her hull patched up.  
  
Much to his own surprise, Jack had found himself relishing the hardships aboard ship. To be sure, sometimes he was wet through to the skin and freezing cold; he was often hungry; his fingers were rough from rope burns and his hair matted with salt. But he felt alive, more truly alive than ever he had making tables and chairs in his father's workshop.   
  
Indeed his father would probably not have known his son. Leaving Portsmouth, Jack had been a skinny, small lad with pale English skin and short dark hair. Now he was tanned, his hair had grown to his shoulders, and while he was still skinny it was a tough skinniness. Around his head he wore the red scarf from his first raid, and subsequent attacks had yielded a wide sash and a belt to hold a short knife.  
  
He had celebrated his eleventh birthday out in the middle of the Atlantic. Bootstrap Bill had discovered the date through judicious questioning, and the crew had thrown their cabin boy a proper pirates' party, with tots of rum, hard ship's biscuits, and raucous singing of sea shanties. The men had given him the knife for his belt, a warm blanket for his hammock, and the Italian first mate Roberto had promised to give Jack lessons in swordsmanship.  
  
All in all, Jack felt that running away to be a pirate was probably the best decision he had ever made, and he felt that ever more as he looked out at the Caribbean island before him and basked in the sunshine on his face.  
  
"Welcome to the Caribbean, lad," Thornton said, and Jack turned to the ship's second mate, who held out a bottle of rum. Jack took it, gulped down a swallow, and coughed.  
  
Bill hit him on the back. "You'll never be a decent pirate if you cannot take your rum, Jack."  
  
Jack's coughing subsided. "I'll do both."  
  
"You will?" Thornton said.  
  
"I will." Jack grinned. "I'm Jack Sparrow."  
  
Both men laughed, and Bill turned away. "C'mon, Cap'n Flint says we can go ashore for a bit."  
  
They lowered one of the skiffs, and seven or eight of the crew climbed into it, and set off stroking for the shore. Jack sat in the bows and called directions, relishing having command of even such a small boat.  
  
Once ashore, and once they had all managed to find their land legs, they unloaded the empty water barrels from the ship, and set off in search of fresh water.  
  
The trees were thick, and the jungle was full of strange noises. Jack saw a brightly-coloured bird streak across the canopy, screeching as it went, and pointed in excitement.  
  
"It's a parrot," Sykes, the ship's cook, explained. "You can teach 'em to talk. Clever little critters, parrots."  
  
"To talk?" Jack was amazed.  
  
"That's right," Sykes said. "I 'eard one once what recited the Lord's Prayer. All the way through."  
  
"I don't believe you!" Jack returned.  
  
"I don't know 'bout the Lord's Prayer," Bootstrap said thoughtfully, "but they can certainly talk."  
  
"Stream!" came the shout from the front of the little group, and they hurried to it.  
  
They rinsed the barrels out first, scrubbing them with some leaves from a nearby plant that Sykes pronounced "not poisonous", and then each was filled with fresh water. Then the men stripped off their shirts and washed off weeks of salt, splashing each other playfully.  
  
Eventually, tired out, they hefted the barrels and set off back towards the beach. Another skiff had come across from the ship, and the men had lit a fire and were sitting round it while several crabs on sticks roasted slowly. They greeted their comrades cheerfully, and some went off back to the stream to wash and drink.  
  
Jack spread his damp shirt out over a rock to dry, and lay down spread-eagled on the warm sand.  
  
They stayed at anchor overnight. In the morning Captain Flint ordered the crew back on board, and in a short time the sails were up and the anchor weighed, and they were sailing again.  
  
"Where are we going?" Jack asked, as he scrubbed the deck by Bill's side.  
  
"Tortuga," Bootstrap said. "One of the few places in the Indies that don't mind us. Rough sort o' town, but cheerful. We'll exchange goods for coin, and coin for ... other stuff."  
  
"What other stuff?" Jack was keenly interested.  
  
"Drink," said Bill. "And, er ..."  
  
"Girls?" Jack guessed. Bill's expression was aghast. "After me mother died," Jack said, "Father kept bringing these lasses home with him. They never stayed long. I weren't supposed to know. And that was back in Portsmouth - I reckon somewhere that likes pirates might also like ..."  
  
"Girls," Bill finished. "Aye, that's true enough. The girls like the pirates, and the pirates like the girls, and everyone's happy."  
  
"And that's why you'll be staying aboard ship, young Sparrow." Captain Flint's shadow fell over them. "Tortuga's no place for a lad."  
  
Jack opened his mouth to argue, and then seeing the expression on the captain's face, shut it again.  
  
"Maybe during the day," Flint relented. "But not at night. I'll be leaving you with Roberto to mind the ship."  
  
Looking up, Jack saw Roberto at the helm, and he nodded. "Aye, aye, sir!" He liked the Italian, and he reflected that maybe he would be able to get one of his sword lessons in while the crew were ashore.  
  
They anchored off Tortuga Island at dusk, and the skiffs were quickly lowered. Jack stood and watched the little boats bob off towards the cluster of light that was Tortuga town, and then he turned to Roberto.  
  
The Italian was already waiting for him, two light rapiers in his hand. He passed one hilt-first to Jack. "Start with exercises," he said.  
  
Jack obediently put his left foot behind him, and began to follow the mate through the series of exercises designed to improve his control of the blade.  
  
They kept at it for an hour or so, following the exercises with some simple parries and lunges. At the end of the lesson, Roberto pronounced himself "verra pleased" with his pupil, and they sat down in companionable silence to eat the simple meal Sykes had left for them. There was some rum, too; Jack had a small tot and Roberto a few larger ones.  
  
At some point, tired out with the day's exertions, Jack must have fallen asleep, for he woke as the ship shifted on her moorings, something bumping against her side. It was a boat, and for a moment he panicked. Captain Flint would not think well of him for sleeping on watch. But then he listened, and realised that only one boat had come back - and why had the crew not hailed the _Pearl_?  
  
Jack sat up, and listened harder. Someone was climbing the rope left hanging over the side for when the crew returned, climbing it as quietly as they could.  
  
By the helm, Roberto was slumped, deep asleep. Jack thought quickly, and picked up one of the practice swords lying by the remains of their meal, before slipping silently off to hide just inside the cabin door.  
  
He heard the light thud as someone hauled themselves over the side of the ship and landed on the deck, and he heard the sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath. There was a pause of maybe five minutes, which to Jack seemed like hours, and then another thud signalled the arrival of a second person. Footsteps crossed the deck.  
  
"They took the bait, then." A gruff man's voice, tinged with a light accent.  
  
"I knew they would." Jack started - he knew that voice. Sykes laughed harshly. "Boy'll eat anything."  
  
"So where is the runt?" the other man asked.  
  
"Damned if I know." A splash, as a rum bottle was tossed over the side of the ship. "He's only a nipper, anyway, no danger to us."  
  
"I'd rather know where he is, _savez_?" the strange voice returned. Jack mouthed the unfamiliar word to himself, and wondered what it meant.  
  
"I'll give you savvy. Let's deal with the Italian, get the loot and scarper, afore the cap'n returns."  
  
The footsteps came close to Jack, and passed up the wooden steps to the helm. Jack desperately wondered what to do now. He did not like the sound of "dealing with" Roberto, and he knew that even if he surprised the two men he would be well nigh helpless. Sykes had obviously been planning to steal from the _Black Pearl_ for days, maybe longer, and he carried a pistol as well as his sword. Jack had no idea who the cook's companion was, but the chances were that he was also well armed.  
  
He gripped his sword and waited. After a pause there was a horrible soft sound, followed by a thud, and then the footsteps hurried past the cabin again and Jack heard the hatch down to the lower decks being opened.  
  
Cautiously he pushed open the cabin door, peered out, and saw that the coast was clear. Crossing quickly and softly to the hatch, he closed it and made a makeshift lock out of a loop of rope and the sword pushed through the loop into the deck. Now he ran to the side, climbed over, caught the rope still hanging down to the skiff, and shimmied quickly down it.  
  
The sweeps were heavy, but they had not been taken out of the rowlocks and were resting in the centre of the skiff. Jack heaved them into the water, settled himself in the middle of the boat, and set to pulling as hard as he could in the direction of Tortuga. Sykes and his accomplice were left aboard the _Black Pearl_, with no means of escape.  
  
----  
  
TBC 


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** again, thanks for the reviews - any and all comments are still gratefully received. I hoard reviews like pirates hoard loot. :)_  
  
----  
  
"I'm looking for the crew of the _Black Pearl_," Jack said, pulling at the filthy sleeve of a passing sailor. The man peered at him blearily.  
  
"Ne'er 'eard of 'er," he said, and staggered away.   
  
Jack threw his hands in the air in frustration. So far he had asked three sailors, two innkeepers and a woman in a red dress, and none of them had heard of the _Pearl_ or her crew. He stood still in the middle of the street, and considered his options.  
  
He could not return to the ship, that was certain. By now he knew that Sykes and his mysterious companion would have broken out of the hatch and would be furious to find that their escape route had escaped. He also knew that the cook, at least, would still be on board, for most of the men could not swim. Jack himself, who had learnt to swim in Portsmouth harbour as a small boy, found this idea strange. But Thornton had explained it early on: a sailor who cannot swim will drown all the quicker if his ship goes down.  
  
And so he was left with having to scour Tortuga for people he knew, who would either be drunk, or unconscious, or with a woman. Jack was fairly clear on the mechanics of the last, and hoped that whoever he did find was merely under the influence of drink.  
  
He looked around, and chose the nearest tavern to try next.  
  
Weaving his way through the staggering bodies that were the inn's customers, he looked around for someone he knew. Nobody. Sighing, Jack made his way to the bar and stood on tiptoes to attract the innkeeper's attention.  
  
"Sir!" he called. Best to be polite at first.  
  
"We don't serve children," the innkeeper shot back.  
  
"I'm looking for the crew of the _Pearl_," Jack said. "Cap'n Flint? It's important."  
  
"And who might you be, lad?" the innkeeper asked, a flicker of something crossing his face.  
  
"Me? I'm Jack Sparrow," Jack said.  
  
"And that explains everything, does it, Jack Sparrow?"  
  
"You know where the cap'n is," Jack said, knowing he was right. "If you tell me where to go, I'll make sure he knows you helped."  
  
The innkeeper laughed. "I'm to help a pirate's cabin boy, now, am I?"  
  
"It'll be the worse for you if you don't," promised Jack, confident. He felt in his pocket, and pulled out the little leather pouch he kept his coins in. "Here." He dangled the pouch before the innkeeper's greedy eyes. "If you tell me where the cap'n might be."  
  
The man sighed. "Drive a hard bargain, don't 'ee, Jack Sparrow? Flint'll be at the Widow Lejean's, always is when he comes to Tortuga. Down t'street, turn left, battered blue door."  
  
Jack grinned. "Thanks." He tossed the leather pouch at the innkeeper and was off, darting through the tavern's clients and out into the street.  
  
The widow's blue door was the only one in her street that was painted, and Jack hammered on it with all his strength.  
  
"Cap'n Flint!" he called. "Cap'n!"  
  
From within there were irritated voices, and then footsteps, and finally the door opened and the captain stood there in shirtsleeves. "Sparrow? I left you on the ship under orders."  
  
"Sykes came to take the loot," Jack said, breathless from his rush from the tavern.  
  
"What?!" The captain's eyebrows shot up.  
  
"He drugged the rum," Jack explained. "We fell asleep, but I woke up when he came along." He hesitated. "I reckon Roberto's dead, stuck with a sword, but I took their skiff and came to find you. They're aboard the _Pearl_, won't escape easy."  
  
Flint seemed to have got stuck at the beginning of the tale. "Sykes, ye say?"  
  
"Aye, sir. I tried to find the rest o' the crew, but couldn't - I'm sorry I left the ship ..."  
  
The captain shook his head. "Nay, lad, you did the right thing. Wait here." He disappeared inside the house, leaving the door open, and in a few moments returned with his jacket and hat on and his sword at his side.  
  
With Flint at his side, finding the crew proved easier. They rounded up half a dozen of the least drunk, Bill Turner among them, and set off back towards the ship.  
  
They could soon see two figures pacing the deck, and closer up could hear their argument.  
  
"I told you to find the boy!"  
  
"I didn't think he'd be a problem, did I?" Sykes's angry voice drifted back across the water. "Blasted kid."  
  
"We go aboard nice and quiet," Captain Flint told his men. "Subdue and bind 'em."  
  
The skiff slid quietly up to the _Black Pearl_, and Jack tied it up while the men began to climb the rope, one after another. Above him, there was a shout, the sound of a scuffle, and then Bill Turner's voice. "Got him!"  
  
Jack climbed the rope and swung himself over the rail. One of the men was holding a handkerchief to a gash on his forehead, and another was holding his knife with his left hand, but otherwise the loyal crew seemed unhurt. Bootstrap was sitting on Sykes, and both the cook and his accomplice had their hands bound.  
  
"There he is!" the stranger said, on seeing Jack. "You little ..."  
  
"Shut up!" Flint said, his voice full of rage. Jack examined the man with interest. He was tall, and well-built, and had the characteristic honey-coloured skin of a Creole. Most exciting of all were the elaborate tattoos covering his bare torso, and Jack gazed in fascination.  
  
"Bootstrap, get him up," the captain ordered, and Bill grasped his captive's collar and hauled him to his feet. "Now, Sykes, what have ye got to say for yourself?" Flint asked, stepping up to his cook.  
  
"Are these all the men you could muster, cap'n?" Sykes retorted. "Handful of idiots what can't get themselves a lay, even in Tortuga?"   
  
"Rather that than a traitor," Bill muttered.  
  
"You'd steal from me, would you?" the captain said.  
  
"Aye, I would. Know what they call you, be'ind your back, like? Skinflint. Mean with the booty, and not 'alf ruthless enough to be a real pirate."  
  
There was a chorus of dissent from the other pirates. But Flint waved his knife in the air, and they quietened.  
  
"You're condemned by your own words, Sykes," the captain said sadly. "I'm sorry for it - you're a good cook, and I was thinking you're a good man. Take him to the brig, Bill."  
  
Jack reflected it was a sign of the captain's mood that he called Bill Turner by his first name rather than his nickname. Sykes was dragged off, and Flint turned to the stranger.  
  
"Got a name?" The man merely spat at the captain, who shrugged. "He can join Sykes in the brig."  
  
They left the two men languishing in the iron cages below decks, and while half the men went back to Tortuga to find their crewmates, the others sorted the bags of loot that had been taken and put them back in the hold.  
  
But a more sombre task still awaited them. Jack followed Captain Flint up to the helm, and watched as the captain bent over Roberto's body.  
  
"I'm sorry, sir," Jack said, gazing down at the lifeless shape of the Italian.  
  
"People die, lad," the captain returned, turning Roberto over. Jack saw a bloody slash across the mate's throat, and a pool of congealing blood on the decking. "Ye know that. Being a pirate is a dangerous business." He straightened.  
  
"Aye, I know that," Jack said. "But, cap'n, he wasn't killed in battle. He was asleep. Cold blood, that is."  
  
"And they'll pay for it, never you fear," Flint said grimly.  
  
The next day, once all the crew were back on board (some more sober than others), the _Black Pearl_ sailed again. She took a course back out towards open ocean, Flint guiding her unerringly past shoals and rocks. Jack, watching for unseen obstacles from the bowsprit, saw after a few hours of sailing that there was a small island ahead of them - more a sparsely vegetated rock, in fact, than a true island. There was no other land within sight. The captain called for the anchor to be lowered, and ordered the captives on deck.  
  
The crew were tense and silent as they waited to hear the sentence on the two men. They knew the code - treason was a heinous crime, and deserved the worst punishment.  
  
Captain Flint drew his cutlass, a wickedly edged blade from the East.  
  
"Robert Sykes, you stand here accused of desire to steal from the _Black Pearl_, and of conspiring against ship, captain and crew. You also stand accused of the murder of Roberto Verdano, first mate of this ship. How do you plead?"   
  
"Guilty," Sykes spat out. Flint nodded, and turned to the strange Creole.  
  
"You also stand accused of conspiring to steal, and of the murder of Roberto Verdano. How do you plead?" The Creole said nothing, but stared at the captain with hard eyes. Flint turned to the crew. "Do any here have evidence that this man is guilty?"  
  
All eyes went to Jack, who nodded. "Aye, sir, I do. I heard him talking, last evening; and I heard 'em kill Roberto."  
  
"Thank you, lad," Flint said. He faced the captives once more. "You are found guilty, and I condemn you to being marooned on that island. You will now walk the plank. Thornton, lower the plank."  
  
"Aye, cap'n." Thornton, his face grim, slotted the thin plank of wood into place so that it jutted out over the blue waters.  
  
"Do we not get a pistol?" Sykes asked.  
  
"Your behaviour has not earned that," the captain returned. "Starve to death - it's a peculiarly apt end for a cook." He gave Sykes a push on to the plank. "Get on wi' ye."   
  
Sykes held out his bound wrists, and with a snarl Flint cut the ropes. The cook grinned, and stepped out.  
  
"Good luck to you all," he said, and stared hard at Jack. "You too, lad. Too clever fer yer own good."  
  
Then he jumped, and came up gasping and floundering in the water before making some splashing effort in the direction of the islet.  
  
The silent Creole said nothing as he followed Sykes into the water. All the pirates rushed to the side to watch as he surfaced, swam a few easy strokes to Sykes and grasped him around the chest before setting off to the islet.   
  
"Trust us to maroon someone who can swim," Thornton said bitterly, as the two shapes disappeared towards the island.  
  
Flint turned away from the water. "Let that be a lesson to all o' you. Weigh anchor. Hands to the mainsheets - we're going back to Tortuga."  
  
----  
  
TBC 


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** I upped the rating on this to PG-13, owing to the fact I wanted to deal with some "coming of age" issues. I've sketched round them pretty much, but better safe than sorry, eh? As ever, comments appreciated. Thank you, and enjoy!_  
  
----  
  
"I'd like to propose a toast!" Bootstrap called, raising his tankard high. "To our cabin boy." He grinned at Jack. "Happy Birthday, lad."  
  
The _Pearl_'s crew echoed the toast, and raised their own tankards.  
  
Jack lifted his own drink. "Thank you all!" he called.  
  
"Is that it?" Thornton asked with a grin. "You're not usually so quiet, lad."  
  
Getting to his feet, Jack sprang up on the tabletop with slightly less than his normal agility. He doffed his hat - a present from the _Pearl_'s crew, bought new rather than taken, and made of stiff black leather - and bowed to the assembled men.  
  
"Thank you, all!" he repeated. "It is an honour - nay, a delightful honour - to be with you all, here, tonight, in this haven of Tortuga. Indeed I'd not be anywhere else. When I joined the _Pearl_ five years past, I hardly thought I'd find such excellent men." He paused. "Actually I was a little scared of you all." He raised his tankard. "A toast, gentlemen, to the _Black Pearl_ and the freedom she brings us!"   
  
"We'll drink to that!" someone shouted, and there were cheers and whistles. Jack sat down with a bump.  
  
"I'm sure you've laced this rum with something," he told Bootstrap Bill Turner, seriously.  
  
"Only more rum," Bill said. "Anyways, you should be able to take your drink now as you're sixteen, and a proper pirate with a hat and all."  
  
"Me own father wouldn't recognise me," Jack said, and he was right.  
  
The _Black Pearl_ had spent the last five years sailing out of Tortuga and other Caribbean ports. Her reputation had grown, and merchant ships seeing her trademark black sails would turn tail and run rather than face a fight. They had liberated one small naval frigate of some rather good cannon, and since then Captain Flint had been ever more daring in his attacks. They had lost eight men to injuries sustained "in the course of thievery" as the captain put it, and several more had left the ship for other reasons - either to sail back to England, or to settle with a woman in the West Indies. But the _Pearl_ never found it hard to find replacements, such was her standing amongst the pirates of the Caribbean.  
  
Jack Sparrow, meanwhile, had grown from a boy to a young man. He had never filled out much, but had got lean and brown from years at sea. It was acknowledged by the rest of the crew that their cabin boy was by far the best of them at shimmying up the rigging. Continued sword lessons meant that Jack was also coming to be someone to be feared in a fight.   
  
Maybe because he was the youngest of the crew, Jack had developed a quick wit and a quicker tongue. He would answer any jest, joke with the captain, and had already talked his way out of several sticky situations. He added to his singular nature by growing his hair longer than most, and had braided a couple of coloured glass beads into it. But he was well liked by the other men, and had developed a real friendship with Bill Turner.  
  
They had docked in Tortuga two nights before Jack's birthday. The _Black Pearl_ had a rip in her mainsail from a altercation with a Dutch vessel that needed mending, and Captain Flint wanted to take some of the loot off the ship to be hidden away for future needs. The crew spent most of the time ashore, drinking and finding women, and the revelries to celebrate Jack's sixteenth were merely the culmination of their leave.  
  
"More rum!" Bootstrap called.  
  
"I'm not sure I can drink any more," Jack said, his voice slightly slurred. "Not that it's not an uncommonly nice drink."  
  
"It's a great drink," Bill said. He hesitated. "Jack, I'm going back to old England."  
  
Jack sat straight up and peered at his friend from under the brim of his hat. "When? Why?"  
  
Bill sighed, and cupped his hands around his tankard. "It's been a long time, is all. And last time we were there, I met this lass - I don't suppose she'll remember me, but I'd like to find out."  
  
"There are women here too," Jack said. "Pretty girls." He smiled up at the barmaid who had brought them another bottle of rum along with several foamy mugs of ale. "Like this one. My friend here wants to meet a lass, sweetheart!"  
  
She raised her eyebrows, shook her head and turned away.  
  
Bill smiled. "This girl's special, Jack. Beautiful, she is. I've got to know if I stand a chance with her, you see? Anyway, I've got passage on the _Lucille_, and she sails tomorrow."  
  
"What did the cap'n say?" Jack asked, peering at Bill with bleary eyes.  
  
"Oh, you know Flint," Bootstrap returned. "Didn't say much. Gave me me share of the profits, bade me good luck."  
  
"I'll miss you," Jack admitted, examining his drink.  
  
"Ah, you'll be all right," Bill said. "You're Jack Sparrow, savvy?"  
  
Jack found himself laughing. He hit Bootstrap with his hat. "That, William Turner, is my line."  
  
"That hat's to be worn, not used as a weapon," Bill retorted.  
  
"I've got better news for ye, too."  
  
Jack looked round, to see the _Pearl_'s current second mate, an Irishman named Liam O'Connell, grinning at him. "Aye, and what's that, Mr O'Connell?" he asked.  
  
"Cap'n's found a new cabin boy. You get to be one o' the reg'lar crew, now, Sparrow. Taking over from Bootstrap's tasks." O'Connell leaned in. "And more share o' the booty, too."  
  
"So my going's a good thing for you, Jack," Bill added.  
  
Touching his tankard to Bootstrap's, Jack smiled his usual carefree smile, and the party went on.  
  
They carried on drinking well into the early morning, and eventually the innkeeper turfed all the men out of the tavern. Jack wobbled uncertainly along the street, singing a shanty softly to himself, and examining anyone who passed him with bleary-eyed interest.  
  
"Lookin' for a companion for the night, mister?" The girl appeared from an alleyway, expanses of white skin bulging from a tight bodice, and Jack peered in fascination at her.  
  
"Maybe. Possibly." He frowned. "Am I?"  
  
She laughed, and took his arm.  
  
Jack woke the next morning sprawled over an unfamiliar bed, in a strange room, and it took him a moment to remember where he was and what he had been doing. When he did, he sat up, and realised that was a mistake. His head spinning, he lay down again with a groan.  
  
"Mornin', love." The girl from the night before popped her head around a screen. "Thought you'd never wake up."  
  
Jack waved his hand at her, and did not try to speak.  
  
"Mebbe you haven't, yet," she commented, disappearing again. There were splashing noises, and Jack surmised that she must be washing before the new day.   
  
He tried sitting up again, more slowly, and discovered that his head was a little steadier. He also realised that his clothes were neatly draped over a chair, with his red headscarf, belt and dagger on the top of the pile.  
  
"Hat?" he said to himself.  
  
"Eh?" The girl poked her head around the screen once more.  
  
"Hat," Jack repeated. "I had a hat. Nice hat."  
  
"Hangin' on the back of the door, love," she said, emerging from behind the screen wearing a thin cotton robe. "The water's still warm, if you want a bath."  
  
Jack nodded. "Thanks, I will." Making his way carefully round the screen, he found a tub full of water and some rough soap. He slid into the tub and closed his eyes again, hoping that his head would stop throbbing.  
  
Footsteps told him that the girl had come back to him, and in a moment he felt hands rubbing soap through his hair. "Be careful of the beads," he said, eyes still closed.   
  
"If it weren't for last night, I'd swear you were more woman than man," the girl said. "Long hair, and pretty beads an' all."  
  
"Pirate, love," Jack said lazily, soothed by the fingers massaging his scalp.  
  
"Mad pirate, then," she returned, and poured a jugful of water over his head.  
  
He luxuriated in the lukewarm water for a while, until it got too cold, and then he climbed out and put his clothes back on. The girl looked disappointed.  
  
"Got to go, sweetheart," Jack said. "The _Pearl_'ll be waiting, and I've a friend to say goodbye to. I'll look you up next time we're in Tortuga."  
  
"Ah, ye all say that," she said, and threw him his hat. He blew her a kiss, and strolled out of the door.  
  
Bootstrap was talking to the captain when Jack got back to the ship, his bundle on the deck by his side. As Jack came aboard, Flint shook Bill's hand, and turned away to speak to another of the crew.  
  
Jack stuck his hands in his sash. "You're off, then?" he said.  
  
"Got a ship to catch," Bill agreed. He swung his bundle on his shoulder.   
  
The two men looked at each other, Jack fidgeting from foot to foot. Finally, he nodded. "Well, hurry up, then - you'll miss your tide."  
  
"I'll look for you, when I'm back in the Caribbean," Bill said. "Likewise, ask for me if you're ever in Portsmouth. I hope to see you master of your own ship by then, Jack. I know ye'll do it."  
  
"Good luck with the lass," Jack said. He hesitated, and then stepped forward and gave Bootstrap a hug.  
  
Bill was momentarily taken aback, but after a second's pause he returned the embrace. "Good luck for you, too, lad."  
  
Jack watched as his friend went down the gangplank, on to the dock and across the harbour to a small, speedy-looking brig. Bill did not look back.  
  
Sighing, Jack turned and made for the hatch, to leave his hat and other belongings with his hammock, but he was stopped by the captain.  
  
"Hear you had a lively time last night, Sparrow."   
  
"It was that, captain," Jack said. Flint regarded him, and shook his head, before shrugging and continuing.  
  
"O'Connell told me he told you 'bout the new cabin boy. I'll up your share of the loot, when we get some, but you look after him, right?"  
  
"I'll treat him as well as I'd treat meself, sir," Jack said.  
  
"Good lad. He's below decks, sorting his stuff out. Go and find him, then both of you back on deck. We sail in an hour."  
  
"Where to?" Jack asked.  
  
"East," said Flint.  
  
Jack sketched the captain a bow, and hurried below decks to find the new cabin boy.  
  
He was folding a blanket on the end of his hammock, a skinny lad with dark skin and black hair. Jack flung his hat into his own hammock, and crossed to the boy.  
  
"Mornin'," he said.  
  
"It's afternoon." The boy spoke with a tight, controlled voice and a Creole accent.  
  
Jack shrugged. "So 'tis. Afternoon, then. I hear you're taking my job from me."  
  
The boy looked up, and Jack caught the sight of big brown eyes under a floppy hat. "Oh? Who are you?"  
  
"I'm Jack Sparrow, savvy? Ex-cabin boy of the _Black Pearl_. Cap'n's charged me with looking after you - you've got a name?"  
  
"An ... André," the cabin boy said. "_De Haïti_."  
  
"Well, then, André of Haïti," Jack said, "we've work to do. We're sailing shortly. You're coming?"  
  
"I am aboard," André said, "so yes, I am coming." He stood up.  
  
Jack nodded. "Good. Well, then, André - welcome to the _Black Pearl_."  
  
----  
  
_TBC: he's got the scarf. He's got the long hair. He's got the beads (well, some of them). He's got the hat. Naught remains to be obtained but those lovely dark-rimmed eyes - and in Chapter 6, we'll find out how he gets them._


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** In answer to Kayden's review - this story will go at least as far as Jack assuming the captaincy of the _Pearl_. At this stage, I can't be more precise than that.  
  
In the mid 1600s, the town now known as Casablanca was in Portuguese control and called Casa Branca. The Portuguese also had other colonies on the West African coast, with other parts of the continent controlled by the Dutch, the French and the British. At least this is what I've been able to find out - if anyone has more precise historical knowledge regarding this period, I'd be thrilled to hear it.  
  
The information about kohl, and how to apply it, was gained from the following website: bdancer.com/ med-guide/ suppl/ makeup.ht ml. Close the gaps and add a triple w at the beginning - ff.net strips everything else. Kohl was apparently used by men and women in the desert to reduce the glare of the sun, and it stands to reason that it'd be equally effective at sea.  
  
Now, all aboard and on with the show!_   
  
----  
  
"The town's Portuguese," Flint said. "So don't cause any upset, right? You've five hours shore leave while we take on supplies, and then we're heading south."  
  
"What's wrong with the Portuguese?" Jack asked, leaning on the rail.  
  
"Don't take kindly to the British," the captain returned shortly.  
  
"But we're not British, are we?" Jack pressed. "Not strictly, exactly, on account of our mixed nations."  
  
"Ye're English," O'Connell pointed out. "And ye're wastin' your leave, Jack. Get on wi' ye."  
  
"Aye, sir!" Jack doffed his hat smartly, put it back on, and walked briskly down the gangplank on to Moroccan soil.  
  
Casa Branca was the first landfall the _Black Pearl_ had made since they left Tortuga some seven weeks before. It had been a quiet crossing, with a few relatively simple attacks on some small merchant ships. Flint had not wanted to take on too much cargo, as he planned to target the richer vessels plying the waters of the Indian Ocean.  
  
Jack spent most of the voyage teaching the new cabin boy, André, the ropes. He proved an adept pupil, quick to learn and relatively fearless. However he refused to say much about where he had come from, and he guarded his privacy fiercely, what there was of it aboard ship. The crew had tried drawing him out, but to no avail.  
  
André had been left behind now, as Jack hurried to catch the other men up. It was hot and sunny, and he had left his coat on board. Around them, men dressed in long white robes hurried past, casting brief looks at the scruffy pirates.  
  
"Anyone know where we're off to?" Elias Carpenter, a seasoned member of the crew, asked. "Anyone been here afore?"  
  
"I think we follow the people," the Frenchman Joffo suggested, gesturing at the steady stream heading out of the harbour area and into the town centre.  
  
"Yeah, but what're we lookin' for?" Carpenter persisted. "Vittles? Drink?"  
  
"This doesn't look like the sort o' place that does drink," Jack observed, glancing up at the solid walls of the Portuguese fortress that dominated the town. "Too many soldiers, savvy?"   
  
"Soldiers need to drink, lad," Thornton said.  
  
They bickered amiably over the subject all the way into the busy market in the town centre, which Joffo said knowledgeably was called a "souk". There they found a sort of inn selling bowls of a spicy stew and coarse red wine, which all the men agreed was a sight better than the rotten meat and fermenting porridge they had been eating on board ship for the last few weeks.  
  
Afterwards, some of the crew announced they were going to stay where they were, while the rest of them stepped out into the street. Jack hooked his thumbs into his belt, and strolled off towards the market.  
  
It was full of noise and interesting, unusual smells, unlike anything Jack had experienced before. The people bustling around were mainly men, the few women clad in robes covering their bodies, a heavy veil on their heads. In his loose shirt, breeches and gaudy sash, Jack stood out.   
  
He wandered along, examining the stalls from a slight distance. First came food - exotic vegetables and fruit, grains and pulses, and wooden tubs filled with mounds of coloured spices. The pirate in Jack Sparrow wondered how much the goods were worth; the man breathed in the pungent scents and wondered what they tasted like.  
  
Further along, another stall held more wooden tubs with different powders, as well as flasks containing various liquids. These did not look like spices, and Jack was intrigued enough to go a little closer and examine them.  
  
The old woman squatting on the ground behind the stall said something from behind her black veil, and Jack spread his hands to show incomprehension. She reached out and touched his beaded braids with wrinkled fingers, and seemed to laugh, before scooping up a small amount of a black powder in a little wooden scoop and holding it out.  
  
Jack bent, and sniffed, and discovered that the powder was almost odourless. He shrugged at the old woman, who laughed again and let it fall back into the tub before picking up a small wooden stick and dabbing it into the substance. Frowning at her, Jack watched, and stepped back in alarm when she stood up and leaned forward.  
  
She cackled again, and shook her head at him before grasping his arm and pulling him to her. Her strength was impressive, and despite his efforts to extricate himself she swept the stick beneath his left eye.   
  
"Ow!" Jack said. "Look, mistress, I know you don't understand me, but that's not a polite thing to do."  
  
She had let go of his arm and was holding up a round mirror now, shining dully in the sunlight. Jack peered into it, wondering what on earth had been done to him, and blinked.  
  
He took the mirror from the woman, and covered the right side of his face with his hand before looking again. He turned his head from side to side, and slowly a grin spread across his face.  
  
"Now that," said Jack, "isn't half bad."  
  
The old woman took the mirror from him, and this time he allowed her to spread powder below his other eye before he looked again. He nodded, pleased.  
  
She pantomimed being on the sea, and shaded her eyes as if the sun was glaring down into them, and then pointed at the powder, running her fingers underneath her eyes, and looking upwards once more.  
  
Jack considered her actions for a moment, and realised what she was telling him. The new dark shadows underneath his eyes would help reduce the glare of the water. He smiled, and nodded at the old woman, who picked up a small leather bag and scooped some of the powder into it. She pressed the bag into Jack's hands together with the wooden stick.  
  
He felt in his pockets and found some silver pennies, and passed them over. "Thank you," he said, and gave the old woman a bow. She cackled her strange laugh again, and Jack shook his head in amusement before wandering onwards.  
  
Back on the ship, the crew found his new embellishment hilarious.  
  
"Makes your eyes look right big," Thornton commented, sniffing the powder.  
  
"It's called kohl," Joffo offered, a tiny bit of the powder on his fingertip. "I have seen it before, _en Afrique_."  
  
André, watching from the rail, said: "I think it looks good."  
  
"Must say it's ... it's you, somehow," Carpenter said, scratching his head. "Goes with the trinkets."  
  
"Pirates are supposed to be plain folk," O'Connell put in. "In case of gettin' caught, ye know?"  
  
"I don't plan on getting caught," said Jack. "I'm Jack Sparrow - savvy?"  
  
They laughed, and cuffed him good-naturedly around the head.  
  
Joking aside, though, Jack found that the kohl did help reduce the light off the sea, and soon it became second nature to reapply the powder in the morning. It proved remarkably resistant to the sea-spray too, as the _Black Pearl_ sailed south along the African coast. These were Portuguese waters, patrolled by their naval ships, and Flint did nothing to aggravate the few that they saw.  
  
So the days passed, with the watches rotating. They mended sails and trimmed ropes, scrubbed the deck every day, and practised fighting. The cabin boy André got better at climbing the rigging, and, just like Jack used to do, spent hours practising tying knots.  
  
He was sitting in a corner on deck one day concentrating fiercely over a thin piece of rope when Jack resolved to try again at livening the lad up a little. He crossed to the boy and settled down beside him.  
  
"How're they going?"  
  
André pulled the ends of the rope. "All right."  
  
"How're you going?" Jack persisted.  
  
"All right."   
  
"I believe you're the most talkative person on board," Jack said, resting his head against the rail. André looked at him as if he were mad.  
  
"Me? No, you."  
  
"Ah, that was what you'd call sarcasm, you see," Jack said. "Seeing as how you're certainly the least talkative on board." He tilted his hat back. "And I reckon you've a rare tongue in your head, if you chose to use it."  
  
"You do?"  
  
"Them as have 'em, know 'em when they see 'em in other people," Jack nodded.  
  
André shook his head. "I think you're mad, Jack."  
  
"No, see," Jack said, "when I was your age and came to the _Pearl_, it was because I'd got like you. Wasn't able to talk because my old man gave me a hiding. I left to become meself. To get some freedom." He ran his hand over the smooth planks of the deck. "And I found it."  
  
The cabin boy twisted the rope between his fingers. "I wanted freedom also."  
  
"Well?"  
  
"And so can't I be free to keep my own secrets?" André said, something flashing in his eyes.  
  
Jack grinned. "That's more like it. Show some spirit. A pirate has to have life in him, fire to keep him going. Take what ye can and give nothing back."  
  
André returned his smile. "Take what I can?"  
  
"And give nothing back," Jack repeated. "Pirate's code, lad. We pull together as a team, but if the team breaks up it's one for one. You look after yourself, savvy? We're not lasses that need someone carin' for them all hours of the day."  
  
At this, André nodded sharply. "I don't need anyone to care for me," he said.  
  
"Ship needs care, though," O'Connell said, crossing to them. "How're those knots comin' on, André?"  
  
"Good, sir," the boy said, looking up. The Irishman offered a brief smile.  
  
"Jack, Cap'n wants the mainsail trimmin' a little. Ye don't seem busy."  
  
Jack slipped his boots off, the better to climb the rigging, and sprang to his feet. "I'm not."  
  
"Off ye go, then," O'Connell said, and Jack gave him a mock salute before heading off into the shrouds. From below, André watched him with rapt attention, before the mate cuffed him gently round the head. "Cook wants some help, lad, filletin' fish."  
  
André cast a last look upwards, and disappeared into the galley. From his spot halfway up the main mast, Jack paused in tying quick knots and frowned to himself. There was something strange about the cabin boy, and he was determined to get to the bottom of the mystery.  
  
----  
  
_TBC: but it might be a while as I'm going away. I'll write, but I won't be able to upload for a week or so._


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** Ahoy there, me hearties! Back from my holiday, and here's the first of the two chapters I finished writing and typing up - they're both long ones, I hope you approve. As ever, comments and critique very much appreciated._  
  
----  
  
The _Black Pearl_ made good time until she reached the Cape of Good Hope, but the junction between two oceans lived up to its alternative name, _Cabo Tormentoso_, the Cape of Storms. The ship was tossed on giant waves and hammered by tropical rainstorms, and the crew battled to keep her from foundering on the treacherous rocks. Jack spent several cold, wet, dangerous hours tied to the masts, reefing sails as fast as he could go until all that was left were small squares of tight canvas.  
  
Eventually, the storms abated and Captain Flint took stock of his ship's damage. They had lost one sail, and several others were ripped; lines were frayed; but the actual fabric of the ship seemed to be in good condition. The decision was made to press on to India.  
  
A week after rounding the Cape, the pirates came upon their first merchant ship. Flying a Dutch flag, she was low in the water and moving slowly towards them. Captain Flint examined the vessel through his telescope and looked satisfied.  
  
"She's carrying a good deal of cargo. We'll fire a round of cannon on her, close and board. Arm yourselves, men, and then starboard watch to the cannon and port watch to the sheets."  
  
They ran to carry out his orders. Jack left his hat in his hammock and put his sword on, tucking his knife into his sash, before going to his post by the foremast. André was waiting by the stern with the piratical Jolly Roger ready to raise on Flint's command.  
  
The _Pearl_ closed. The captain swung the wheel round. "Raise the flag. Lower topsails!" he shouted, and O'Connell relayed the order.  
  
"Lower topsails. Ready? Two, six, heave!"  
  
They heaved, pulling together on the ropes, and the topsails started to drop. Men on the masts folded as the canvas came down, and the ship began to slow even as she turned.  
  
"Fire a shot across her bows!" Flint called, and the order was passed down below decks. The cannon boomed, and the shot hit the water just before the bows of the Dutch ship.  
  
Now the _Black Pearl_ came alongside the Dutch vessel. Men on board the other ship had swords drawn; some of them had pistols and as the grappling irons were thrown and caught, a shot came whistling across the divide. Jack ducked and heard the shot graze the decking. Together with Joffo, he flung a plank across the gap, and drawing his sword crossed it nimbly.  
  
The pirates fought to disarm rather than kill, binding their opponents' hands when they had knocked swords out of them. But injuries were sustained on both sides.  
  
Jack fought his way past two sailors, aiming for a richly dressed merchant who was brandishing a thin rapier nervously.  
  
"Leave my ship, pirate!" the merchant called in accented English, as Jack approached.  
  
"Seems to me," Jack returned, darting the tip of his blade close to the merchant's face, "that you've misunderstood the word 'pirate', mate."  
  
The merchant parried, badly, and Jack swept his sword up and flicked the merchant's weapon out of his hand, catching it as it fell towards the deck. He grinned, and gave the Dutchman a little bow. He tucked the captured blade under his arm, and began to strip the merchant of his jewellery and other valuables.  
  
Half an hour later, the sailors were shut in the cargo hold - rather emptier now than before the _Pearl_'s arrival. The group of merchants were bound hand and foot and had been tied together in a group around the mainmast. Captain Flint supervised the transfer of cargo from the merchant ship to the _Black Pearl_. They were taking ten large rolls of calico and silk as well as bags of spices; all valuable goods which would fetch a lot of money. The Dutchmen glared helplessly as the captain bowed his thanks and the pirates retreated, casting the captured vessel loose.   
  
Aboard the _Black Pearl_ there was much celebration. The captain ordered an extra ration of rum, and they moved their booty down to their own cargo hold. Jack settled down with some of the coins and beads he had taken from various merchants and began to add them to one of his braids.  
  
He had chased one particularly fiddly yellow bead across the deck three times, and was scowling at it, when André came and sat cross-legged next to him.  
  
"You are having problems," he commented.  
  
"No, lad, I'm fine. Really." Jack tried again to thread the bead on to the thin plait, and failed. André held out his hand.  
  
"Let me help."  
  
Jack regarded the cabin boy quizzically for a moment, and then passed him the bead. André took it, and nimbly threaded it on to Jack's hair, tying the end off with a scrap of cotton.  
  
"Can you do the others?" Jack asked, passing André his remaining trinkets.  
  
Nodding, the boy knelt and quickly separated three strands of hair, twisting them together and attaching beads and coins.  
  
"You're not bad at this," Jack said. André smiled.  
  
"I used to help _Maman_ with her hair."  
  
Jack's eyes narrowed. "Funny sort o' thing for a lad to do."  
  
There was a pause. André threaded the plait through a hole in a coin. Eventually he said: "You are the one with beads in his hair and painted eyes."  
  
"I don't remember me mum," Jack returned. "Maybe it's a'cause of that."  
  
"What, you want to be your mum?" Carpenter asked, coming over to them and flopping to the deck with his rum. "Always knew you were touched in the head, Jack."  
  
Jack met Carpenter's gaze seriously. "Yes, Elias, I've always wanted to be my mother. I missed her that bad when I was young, and it's affected me deeply." He dabbed at his eyes and sniffed theatrically. "Anyway," he added, dropping the act, "look around you. We've all got swag from raids - I just choose to keep mine where I can't lose it."  
  
He looked round to include André in his point, but the cabin boy had disappeared.  
  
"Now where's he got to?" Jack wondered.  
  
"Ah, ye're wasting your time, lad," Carpenter said, offering his rum. Jack took the bottle, swigged a gulp, and handed it back. "That boy'll ne'er make a pirate. Too quiet."  
  
"I reckon he's hiding somethin'," Jack said. "It ain't natural for a lad his age to be that tight-lipped."  
  
Carpenter laughed. "Sez the aged old man of what - sixteen, aren't you?"  
  
"Ah, but me - I'm an old sixteen," Jack said. "That boy's a young whatever he is."  
  
"Well," said Carpenter, "I still think you're wasting your time. 'Pon the other hand, I know you'll not give up trying to get him to talk."  
  
"That I won't," Jack agreed.  
  
And he did not. At every opportunity, Jack talked to André, and slowly the boy gave away pieces of his history. A childhood spent scraping a living from the soil, hard work in hot fields with his mother and, it seemed, a host of aunts. He never mentioned a father, and Jack did not press the issue. After all, he barely thought of his own father, save for occasional bouts of daydreaming. These usually involved him returning to Portsmouth as the master of his own vessel, rich and popular, and magnanimously offering his father something. The daydreams were never specific as to what, exactly, to offer the elder Sparrow, apart from a healthy dose of words. In any case, Jack felt that he could empathise with whatever ill-feeling the cabin boy bore for his absent parent. Instead he concentrated on getting André to explain why he had chosen to join the _Pearl_. Little by little, the two struck up a kind of uneven camaraderie, with Jack playing the role of mentor and talker, and André that of listener and pupil.  
  
They continued sailing the ocean, attacking whatever vessel they came upon. The usual injuries and damage were sustained, but nothing serious enough to make Captain Flint decide to head for land. Supplies were found on each ship that fell victim to the pirates - sometimes fresh produce, more often dried meat or fish, or grains, together with barrels of water, rum and wine. The weather held fair and warm, and when the wind was low the captain was content to let the _Black Pearl_ drift for a day or so before ordering the great sweeps to be unshipped.  
  
Eventually, however, the lookout called a lusty "Land ho!" from the crow's nest, and the crew rushed to the side of the ship to catch their first glimpse of shoreline for many weeks. The captain's telescope was passed around and the men took it in turns to examine the coast of India for themselves.  
  
"Not bad," Jack decided, after his turn with the telescope. "Where's that cabin boy? I reckon he should have a look at this." He glanced around, expecting André to be with the rest of the crew, but the lad was nowhere in sight. Jack gave the telescope to Joffo, and went to find the younger boy.  
  
He was not on deck, and neither, it seemed, was he in the sleeping quarters. Jack slipped down the ladder into the hold. "Oy there, André!" he called. "We've land in sight - don't you want to see it?"  
  
There was silence. Jack frowned to himself, and set off to explore the darkness of the hold. Every now and then he paused to listen, and after a short while he heard a distinct sniff. He nodded, grinned to himself and went in the direction of the sniff.  
  
André had curled himself behind a barrel, a rolled-up wedge of material clutched to his chest.  
  
"There you are," Jack said.  
  
In the dim light, the cabin boy's eyes were large and round with tears. "Go 'way," he said.  
  
"There's land," Jack said. "But if you don't want to see it, suit yourself. Captain might want you for something, though."  
  
"I can't come." The voice was small.  
  
Jack folded his arms, and sat down on a handy roll of calico. "Why not?"   
  
"I ... I just ... I cannot come," André said.  
  
"No such word as 'can't', mate," Jack said. "It's a word for landlubbers, that, not for pirates - savvy?"  
  
"I don't think I can be a pirate."  
  
Jack opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again on second thoughts. He waited. André sniffed again, and wiped his face with the end of his sleeve.  
  
"Girls aren't normally pirates," he said, after a pause.  
  
"Not usually, no," Jack agreed. "Wait ... hang on, there, André ..."  
  
Another sniff. "Anamaria."  
  
For perhaps the first time since joining the _Black Pearl_, Jack Sparrow was speechless. He sat in the darkness of the hold and considered the cabin boy's words. Then he recalled his - no, her - hesitation when originally asked her name; her skill at braiding hair; and her fond memories of her mother.  
  
"You've led us a merry dance," he said, eventually. "Can't say as the captain'll be best pleased. Why wait until now to tell us?"  
  
"I was not going to tell you at all!" Anamaria snapped, a catch still in her voice. "But ... but I ... it's the moon curse, if you must know."  
  
Jack ran this through his mind, and found vague memories of the men discussing this strange female condition, usually in connection with a woman they had been unable to bed. "Oh," he said.  
  
"I hoped to hide it," she went on, her former silence broken with a wave of words, "but I do not think I can."  
  
"Terrible bad luck to have a woman on board ship," Jack said. "Even a miniature one."  
  
"Why?" Anamaria returned, heatedly. "We have had good luck so far. Look at this." She waved her arm, dingy white cotton in the darkness.  
  
"It's pitch black, love," Jack said reasonably. "Can't see a bleedin' thing, can I? Look, I'll have to tell the captain. You can't stay down here, and I suppose you need ... something ... for the curse, right? Some o' the men have wives, they might help."   
  
"I don't want to tell anyone," Anamaria insisted.  
  
"To my mind, that's really rather stupid," Jack said, shrugging. "I reckon old Flint'll be better pleased if you tell him yourself, come clean; and I can't see him putting you off ship here. He's a good man."  
  
"He's a pirate."  
  
"We're all pirates, love," said Jack. "He's a good pirate, and a good man. Come on." He held out his hand to Anamaria, and after another pause she took it. He squeezed. "'Sides, you should see the coast. Sight for sore eyes, that."  
  
He stood up, and the cabin boy who was really a cabin girl followed him.  
  



	8. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** A brief note regarding dates: this fic's taking place from about 1655 (chapter 1), so it's now about 1660. A turbulent historical period for England, as Cromwell's government crumbled and eventually fell with his death in 1658; Charles II took the throne back in 1660. I would dearly love to know what the East India Company, an institution founded by Elizabeth I, fitted into this - I'm having serious research difficulties and if anyone happens to know more about the workings of the EIC, particularly in the mid-seventeenth century, I would be eternally grateful. So there are very likely some historical inaccuracies here. One thing that is accurate is the port I've set the EIC in - Fort St. George became Madras, now also known as Chennai. The fort was built in 1644. So now you know.  
  
Thanks for the continued reviews!_  
  
----  
  
The crew did not take the news that their cabin boy was female well. There was much talk of bad luck, and much muttering and gesturing in Anamaria's direction. To his annoyance, Jack got a fair amount of the blame for their cabin boy's deception.  
  
"Now, come on, that just ain't fair!" he burst out eventually, after Joffo had become the sixth pirate to come and tell him that he should have twigged Anamaria's identity earlier on. "So I spent more time with the lass. But this ship isn't that big, and I'm not the one with daughters. Nor sisters."   
  
"It's true enough that a lad and a lass of yon age look much alike," Thornton conceded.  
  
"Thank you!" Jack said. "There, gentlemen, I rest my case."  
  
His case was helped a little by the fact that Captain Flint had decided not to throw Anamaria off the ship. She had been given extra duties as punishment for her deception, but they needed a cabin boy and she was, at least, capable of the tasks. As a matter of fact, in the days following the change from André to Anamaria, she opened up and became much more lively. Some of the men even found to their surprise that their taciturn cabin boy answered them back, and within a week the grumbles had subsided somewhat.  
  
Their luck continued too, with two more successful attacks on merchants. But the _Black Pearl_ was now riding low in the water and her speed was significantly reduced by the weight of cargo, and eventually Captain Flint decided to order them into land to try and sell some of it off. Accordingly, they turned in towards the Indian coast.  
  
They were one day from port when they saw the other ship. Her sails were new, creamy canvas, and her paintwork shone with gilt. Through the telescope, her name could be read: _Silk Princess_. "Aye, and she is a princess," Thornton said with envy. "Look at her lines, lad."  
  
Jack agreed that the _Princess_ was a beauty, but he looked up at the _Black Pearl_'s own dark sails, and down at the worn but polished deck, and he found himself unsure that he would want to sail any other vessel. He said so, and Flint, nearby, looked down at him.  
  
"Not to sail, no. There isn't a ship in the world like the _Pearl_. Not to sail. But to capture ... ah, to capture ..." He looked back at the _Silk Princess_, and licked his lips. "To capture ...."  
  
"Captain, we're riding too low," Thornton said. "We haven't the speed. Ship like that 'un's going to have fire power beyond ours, too. We cannot take her!"  
  
"Is this not the _Black Pearl_, feared throughout the Caribbean?" Flint said sharply to his mate. "We're not going to stand by and watch a prize like that slip through our grasp, are we?"  
  
"_Allez_!" Joffo exclaimed.  
  
"Cap'n ..." Thornton said.  
  
"Oh, ye lily-livered Englishman," O'Connell snorted. "Call yourself a pirate or not? C'mon, Cap'n - we're all wi' ye."  
  
Captain Flint grinned. "Arm the cannon. We'll take her - or what we can of her."  
  
"And give nothing back," a voice said at Jack's elbow. "You think we can do it, Jack?"  
  
Jack turned from the rail to go and fetch his weapons. "I don't know, Anamaria, but those are the captain's orders. Code says we must follow them."  
  
She nodded, and ran off in the opposite direction to start loading the cannon.  
  
By now, the process of firing, closing and attack was second nature to Jack, but he still felt a thrilled rush through his body as the grapples were thrown, the planks laid, and he scampered across to engage the other ship. Shots whistled over his head and he heard a scream, then the splash as the man hit the water. In front of his was a tall, elegant man with an equally elegant rapier, and Jack yelled something incoherent as he rushed in for the attack. All around were cries and shouts as the pirates fought the crew of the _Silk Princess_. Jack lunged and caught his opponent in the shoulder, and moved past him for the next sailor. His braids whipped round his face as he fought, dancing in and out of the other man's reach, and he was entirely focused on the duel - so focused, in fact, that he barely felt the judder as the cannon roared. Too focused to hear the calls from the _Black Pearl_ to retreat.   
  
But he did hear the high-pitched scream of "Jack!" cutting through the smoke and noise, and he turned and saw, to his everlasting horror, the _Pearl_ already astern of the _Silk Princess_, her cannon firing one last time as she turned to retreat. By the rail, being restrained by one of the men, was a small dark-haired figure, and her cries drifted over the widening gap.  
  
"Damn," Jack said, and dropped his sword. He measured the water between the ships, and thought that if he moved now he could probably swim it. The rail was low enough to vault, and he bounced backwards on his heels before lunging forward and breaking into a run.  
  
He did not make the rail, instead landing in an undignified heap on the deck with someone's hands clasping his ankle.  
  
"You're under arrest, pirate," a voice said, and Jack closed his eyes.  
  
He was hauled below decks and placed in the ship's brig, a shiny new iron cage with two heavy locks. They confiscated his knife and his sword and manacled his wrists, and left him.  
  
They left him for a long time. Jack sat on the floor of the cage with his head resting against the bars and wondered where the _Pearl_ had gone, and what they were doing now. He wondered whether any of his friends had been killed - it seemed clear they had not been captured, for he was alone.   
  
Eventually there were footsteps on the ladder, and Jack scrambled to his feet. The man that came into view was undoubtedly English, from the neat auburn hair on his head to the silver buckles on his shoes, and he came to stand in front of the brig with his arms folded behind his back.  
  
"Well."  
  
Jack held out his manacled wrists. "Locked up, and handcuffed?" he said. "You must be scared of us."  
  
The Englishman shook his head. "Scared of you, no. We're scared of losing our livelihood, but somehow I find myself undaunted by one small ship of pirates from the Caribbean." He looked Jack up and down. "Particularly pirates who can barely be counted as men. How old are you?"  
  
Jack shrugged. "Lost count, mate," he lied smoothly.  
  
"Huh." The other man seemed unconvinced. "Do you have a name?"  
  
"For friends, aye," Jack said.  
  
"'Tis unimportant - we know the name of your ship, and that is all that matters. But we had reports of you, young man. It seems all your shipmates were of usual pirate stock in garments and manner, but you stand out." He regarded Jack. "Yes, you stand out. You seem unafraid, too, despite the fact your ship limped off defeated with all your friends on board. Not that I expected pirates to behave any better than that."  
  
"Pirates' code," said Jack. "He that falls behind, gets left behind. I fell."  
  
"I see."  
  
"I'm glad you do. Might I have the pleasure of knowing who's detaining me?"  
  
The other man smiled. "You picked the wrong ship to attack today. The East India Company is licensed to lift goods from other vessels, and we have the support of the government. We are privateers, and we do not suffer pirates gladly. You will be taken to Fort St. George and sentenced there. Do you have anything you wish to say?"  
  
"I'd be glad of some food and drink," Jack said, honestly. "Unless you want me to starve to death before we reach your fort."  
  
"I shall order some bread and water down to you," the Englishman said. He stared at Jack for a moment longer, and turned on his heel.  
  
The bread proved to be stale and the water a vaguely green colour when it arrived, but Jack ate and drank philosophically, knowing he had had worse in the past and would probably have worse in the future. Then he sat down again and considered his fate.  
  
He was under no illusion as to what the Englishman had in mind for him - he knew the fate of captured pirates, and did not intend to suffer it, if at all possible. And so Jack Sparrow spent the rest of the voyage into port planning various escape routes, each more daring than the last.  
  
It took them four days to reach land. Jack listened to the familiar noises of docking - shouts from the harbour, the rattle as the anchor was dropped, the noise of cargo being offloaded - and wished that he was aboard the _Black Pearl_, preparing to go ashore with the others for a well-earned rest in a familiar Caribbean port. For a few moments he felt very alone.  
  
After some time two large and heavy men in a drab brown uniform came to get him, hauling him out of the brig and pushing him up the ladder to the deck. Jack blinked in the sunshine, but they did not allow him a chance to get used to the brightness before they pushed him towards the gangplank.  
  
He staggered a little as he stood on dry land. It seemed too stable and firm, somehow, after the long weeks at sea. The guards took his arms and they set off into the town they had arrived in, people staring as the prisoner was escorted past them. Here, the faces were dark and the clothes bright and cheerful. Women in colourful cottons carried baskets of food and goods on their heads, men pushed barrows of the same or cajoled animals along the road.  
  
Jack found it all fascinating, and wished he were not being hauled along as a captive. He tried asking his guards if they could go a little slower, but this merely speeded the pace up.  
  
After some time they reached a fort, apparently still being built given the wooden scaffolding along one side. The guards hustled Jack inside and he soon found himself pushed inside a dark cell. The door closed with a bang, and a jangle of keys told him that the door had been locked behind him.  
  
He turned in the dark, prodding the floor with his foot. It seemed firm and dry enough, and he sat down and rested his forehead on his knees. He was a captive of the East India Company, the _Black Pearl_ many miles away; and for the first time since he had left Portsmouth, Jack Sparrow was entirely alone. 


	9. Chapter 9

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_  
  
----  
  
Jack spent two long, boring weeks alone in his cell. Once a day someone arrived to put food inside the doorway - usually rice with something spicy. He ate it mechanically, and spent the rest of his days alternately sitting still and thinking, and pacing the cell to keep himself lively.  
  
Towards the end of the first week Jack stood up and stopped his guard as the dinner plate was put down. "Thanks," he said. The guard grunted, and seemed about to turn away. "Stay and chat for a bit?" Jack said, and for once in his life didn't mind if he sounded like he was pleading.  
  
"Only for a bit," the guard said, and settled himself with his back against the wall by Jack's cell. "What d'you want to talk about?"  
  
"This East India Company," said Jack. "I've never heard of it before."  
  
"We don't work outside the Indian Ocean," the guard explained, his tone friendly enough. "But we rule these waters - the Dutch are trying, but they ain't got nothing on the might of the English. Not much chance for a pirate - tough luck fer you."  
  
"Apparently," Jack said. "I suppose it's the gallows for me, then?"  
  
The guard shrugged. "Couldn't say, I'm sure. All I know is that they could do with extra hands on board some o' the ships. This ruddy climate - sailors are dropping like flies." The fort clock struck one. "Better go. Don't want to be caught hob-nobbing with the captives." He grinned, and hurried off.  
  
Jack sat down and picked at his meal, thoughtful.  
  
At the end of the two weeks he was manacled again and taken out of his cell. They marched him across the courtyard and up into a room overlooking the harbour, furnished with a heavy desk and a few chairs. Jack felt his heart lift at the glimpse of blue sea out of the window, but he was not permitted long to gaze at it.  
  
The English East Indiaman who had captured him was seated next to a stout soldier in full uniform, who flicked through some papers and then looked up at Jack.  
  
"Ah, yes, the unnamed pirate from the _Black Pearl_. You neglected to say he was so young, Mr Tapley."  
  
The Englishman, who was evidently named Tapley, shrugged. "It was unimportant. He is still a pirate, Major."  
  
"Indeed. Well, do you have a name?" the Major asked, turning his attention back to Jack.  
  
"Nightingale," Jack improvised. "John Nightingale."  
  
"John Nightingale," the Major repeated, noting it down. "Very good. Now, Nightingale, you've been found guilty of piracy and of obstructing the duties of the East India Company. What do you have to say for yourself?"  
  
"Well," Jack said, "we didn't know 'bout this Company of yours. If we had, I'm sure my captain would've sailed on by."  
  
Tapley snorted. "I'm sorry, Major, but you cannot believe such a tale as this. By all accounts they were sailing in our waters for some time before they came upon us - how can they not have heard of the East India Company?"  
  
"We don't make a habit of chatting to them we capture," Jack said. "Honest mistake."  
  
"Honest! You're a pirate. I would be exceedingly surprised if you are ever honest."  
  
"There's honesty, and there's honesty," Jack returned. "We don't hide what we are, we take from them that can afford it, and we don't kill without reason. Now I grant you there's some as wouldn't be so generous, but not the _Pearl_."  
  
The Major tapped the end of his quill against his teeth. "Nevertheless, Nightingale, I am in a difficult situation here. You are condemned by word and deed, although it is clear to me that your captain truly did not know that the ship you attacked belonged to the Company. By rights I should order you hanged."  
  
"Then order it!" Tapley broke in.  
  
"It is not so simple, my dear Tapley," the Major said, still thoughtfully.  
  
Jack shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I might have a solution for you, sir. You agree that what I did isn't worthy of the gallows, and in return I join one of your crews. I'm a good sailor. Be silly to lose me to a noose."  
  
"You wish to join the Company?" Tapley said, his face red with indignation. "Preposterous!"  
  
"On the contrary, Mr Tapley," the Major interjected, "I think it is an admirable idea. Nightingale can repay the damage he and his fellows caused by serving the Company, and if he is indeed a good sailor then he will be extremely useful."  
  
Jack nodded in encouragement.  
  
"I am certain he will escape at the earliest opportunity," Tapley said.  
  
"Escape to where?" the Major asked. "No, this is my judgement. He shall be branded as a pirate, so that should he escape he will be easily recognised; and then he shall join the _Castle Frigate_. You can order the men there to keep a close eye on him, Tapley. This is quite the best solution - I never enjoy ordering a hanging, particularly of one so young."  
  
"Mighty kind of you, sir," Jack said, breathing an inward sigh of relief.  
  
Tapley opened his mouth to argue, but the Major shook his head. "No, Tapley, you capture them and I punish them. That's the way we do things, you know that. Take him away."  
  
Jack's guards took his elbows and hustled him away.  
  
The branding took place next day, and was brief and excruciatingly painful. A brazier of coals was hauled into the courtyard outside the cells, and an iron shaped like the letter "P" thrust into it. Jack watched it get hot with a kind of fascinated horror. When it was glowing red they took off his manacles and held him down. One of the guards took the iron and placed it above Jack's right wrist before pressing.  
  
He howled. But the pain went on, even after the guard had removed the branding iron. On his forearm there was a livid pink letter.  
  
"Marked now, you are," the guard said, looking at his handiwork with pleasure. "They'll all know what you are."  
  
"Thanks," Jack said sarcastically. "What I always wanted." He bit his lip to offset the pain.  
  
They wrapped his forearm in muslin and some cooling paste and manacled him again. But this time they did not return Jack to his cell, instead leading him out of the fort and back towards the harbour.  
  
Jack's spirits grew more lively as the water approached, and he smelt the familiar smell of salt and damp wood. His two weeks in captivity had been the longest time he had spent off the water since the day he left Portsmouth; he was longing to feel the movement of a ship underneath his feet once more.  
  
At the gangplank to a smart-looking new frigate, the guards took off his manacles.  
  
"Here you be," one of them said. "Major Clements said as how you weren't to escape, so mind - they won't be so generous next time."  
  
"I will bear that in mind, certainly," Jack said, and gave them a little bow before turning and nimbly making his way up the gangplank.  
  
His new captain was waiting for him, a disapproving look on his face.  
  
"You're Nightingale?"  
  
"Aye, aye, sir!" Jack said smartly.  
  
"Welcome aboard the _Castle Frigate_, Nightingale. You've sailed aboard a frigate before?"  
  
"No, sir. Just the _Pearl_."  
  
"And what was she?"  
  
"A bark," Jack said. "And a fast one."  
  
"They share similarities," the captain said, but it was clear he was not comparing the two types of ship favourably. He beckoned to one of the sailors in blue busy coiling lines. "Now, Nightingale, you'll join the port watch and be under the eye of Midshipman Brown, here. Do your work and cause no trouble, and we shall all get along excellently. Do you understand me?"  
  
"Perfectly, sir," Jack replied, the very model of an obedient sailor. The captain nodded.  
  
"Good. Brown, do we have spare uniforms?"  
  
"Not on board, sir," the midshipman said.  
  
"Then Nightingale, you will have to make do with the garments you are wearing, though they are far from ideal. But do tie your hair back."  
  
Jack took off his red headscarf, twisted it into a thick rope, and used it to bind his long hair into a rough tail at the back of his head. The captain seemed to approve, and Jack followed Midshipman Brown away.  
  
Brown seemed friendly enough, though not especially talkative, and showed Jack his hammock. "I don't reckon you'll have anything to stow there?" he asked.  
  
"Left it all on board the _Pearl_," Jack said regretfully. "Wasn't planning on getting myself clapped in irons by your Tapley."  
  
"He's a dedicated bloke," Brown agreed. "Right, no time to stand around - we're setting sail to leave. There's work to be done."  
  
They went back on deck and work began in earnest. Despite the fact that the frigate was, technically, an enemy vessel (to pirates, at least), Jack found himself so pleased to be back on board ship that he threw himself into the tasks he was given willingly. He was sent aloft for the hoisting of the great mainsails, and he climbed the rigging with alacrity.  
  
By the end of the day, even Jack admitted to himself that he was exhausted from the work. His forearm began to hurt again as they sat down for supper in the mess - rice and stew - and he was glad that his watch had time for a rest before going on duty. He fell into his hammock and went straight to sleep.  
  
They were sailing eastwards towards Indonesia, another of the East India Company's outposts, and within a few days there was no land to be seen in any direction. The long days of his captivity behind him, Jack settled back into life afloat and found that the sailors were not actually that different from the crew of the _Black Pearl_. They drank, when permitted, in the same quantities and knew many of the same shanties. Some of them hailed from Portsmouth like Jack. Those who had come most recently from England spoke of war and conflict, and most agreed that they were glad to be away from home.  
  
Jack soon found himself much in demand both on and off duty. During his watches, he spent most of his time aloft, for his agility and lack of fear at the top of the masts were unrivalled. Afterwards, he was often asked for tales of life as a pirate. He told them, but could not resist embellishing the stories somewhat.  
  
Not all the crew warmed to him. There were mutterings that the ex-pirate's presence aboard the frigate was "not right", and from several men Jack received outright hostility. He ignored them, content to be back at sea where he belonged.  
  
But whenever he was on lookout duty in the crows nest, he looked for familiar black sails, and at night, he dreamed of the _Black Pearl_ - surely, by now, hundreds of miles away.   
  
----  
  
_TBC: not an ideal end for that chapter, but the next bit is too long and will form chapter 10._


	10. Chapter 10

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_  
  
----  
  
"What shall we do with the drunken sailor?" Jack sang softly to himself, perched comfortably in the crows nest of the East India Company's _Castle Frigate_. "What shall we do with the drunken sailor? Early in the morning ..." His voice tailed off, and he pulled open the ship's telescope. Sails had appeared on the horizon.  
  
Jack glanced down at the deck to check that nobody else had noticed the other ship, and then looked through the telescope.  
  
"I knew it!" he told a passing seabird. He put the telescope to his eye again. "That's the _Pearl_."  
  
The black sails seemed to be making good progress on a course parallel to the frigate's, heading east towards the islands of Indonesia. Jack grinned to himself, and deliberately turned the other way.  
  
Following his sighting of the _Black Pearl_, Jack took extra pains to fulfil every order that was given to him. He behaved impeccably, and even made an effort not to be sarcastic - this took some doing, but he just succeeded, biting back comments before they escaped his mouth. It paid off, though; his good reputation increased and he was left alone far more.  
  
He kept an eye out during his watches, and twice more thought he caught a glimpse of the black sails on the horizon. It got harder to distinguish them, however. The nearer they got to Indonesia, the more traffic there was. There were other European vessels - Dutch, Spanish and Portuguese, for the most part - as well as the local, smaller ships and boats, and the horizon quickly became a mass of sails of all colours.  
  
Dusk was falling as they sailed into a small port, a new town evidently built for trading. Jack was one of the topmen again, furling the main topsail as they reduced canvas for docking. As they glided into the harbour, another ship was anchoring out in the bay, dark sails furled tidily. Jack's lips curled into a grin.  
  
Once the frigate was safely tied up to the docks, the crew were given shore leave. A small number of the men were ordered to stay aboard, with promises of extra rations of the local spirits. The bo'sun who was setting the watches drew Jack aside.  
  
"Ye'll have to stay here, John lad. Can't have ye runnin' loose ashore."  
  
"Course not, sir," Jack said, nodding. "Maybe the next port we reach?"  
  
"I don't doubt it, if ye continue as ye have been," the bo'sun agreed. "None of us reckoned a pirate could reform so well." He turned to go, and glanced back. "They're picking you up a uniform from the base here, also - ye can get rid of them old breeches."  
  
Jack forced a smile, and the bo'sun disappeared.  
  
The crew left on board had a few tasks to complete before they could relax, and Jack maintained his façade until they were done. They ate, and settled down on deck to talk and sing.  
  
It got dark. Out in the bay, Jack could see two lanterns shining on the _Black Pearl_, and shapes moving around. Evidently some of the pirates were also on watch. Water lapped gently against the ship's side.  
  
He bided his time, and waited until some of the crew were beginning to look sleepy, and then he excused himself and sauntered off in the direction of the heads. Nobody seemed suspicious; indeed barely anyone took notice of his departure.  
  
At the bow, Jack glanced back once. None of the other men were looking in his direction. He climbed up on the rail, poised himself, and dove neatly into the water, cutting cleanly through the surface.  
  
He swam underwater until his breath gave out, and then surfaced cautiously. So far, his escape seemed to have gone unnoticed aboard the frigate. The _Black Pearl_ was a few hundred metres away, across the bay, and Jack struck out quickly and strongly. The water was cold, deep, and he had no idea what creatures might be lurking in the blackness.  
  
Jack swam round the far side of the _Pearl_, hidden from the sight of the frigate or indeed any other ship, and there he trod water. There were no ropes hanging down, but he was sure that someone would be on board, and so he let out a piercing whistle.  
  
Footsteps sounded on deck, and shortly a head was hanging over the rail, searching the water.  
  
"Ahoy there!" Jack called, as loudly as he dared. "Permission to come aboard?"  
  
"Blow me." It was Thornton's voice. "Jack, is that you?"  
  
"Aye, it's me," Jack said, still treading water. "Throw me a line, will you? It's mighty cold in here."  
  
Thornton's head disappeared, and in a moment the pale line of a rope was trailing in the water. Jack gripped, and climbed, with Thornton pulling at the other end. He landed in a wet heap on the _Pearl_'s dark deck with the mate looking down at him.  
  
"Were you planning on staying here long?" he asked, dripping.  
  
"Reckon you might be followed, is that it, lad?" Thornton returned, offering a hand to help Jack to his feet.  
  
"I reckon so, aye," Jack agreed. "Ship like the _Pearl_ isn't easily disguised, either."  
  
Thornton nodded. "Just as well nobody's on shore tonight, then, ain't it?"  
  
"Nobody?"  
  
"Cap'n said as how it were too late to go ashore this evening. We were to have tomorrow on leave. They're having supper below. There's a deal of folk who'll be mighty glad to see you, lad." Thornton let out a whistle, and shortly one of the crew appeared. He stopped and stared when he saw Jack.  
  
"Evening, Bob," Jack said.  
  
"Well now, here's a surprise," Bob returned.  
  
"Keep an eye on the ship, will you?" Thornton said. "I'm taking Jack below. Holler if anyone comes."  
  
"Aye, sir," Bob said. "Good to have you back, Jack."  
  
Jack grinned, and followed Thornton down below decks.  
  
The crew were busy eating, but when Jack appeared, still soaking from his swim, they stopped and silence fell. Then there was a squeal from the bottom end of the table, and a small figure hurtled up to him and threw its arms around his waist.  
  
"Jack!"  
  
"You'll get wet doing that, love," Jack said, looking down at Anamaria's dark head.  
  
"I don't care," she muttered into his shirt. "I thought you were dead."  
  
"As did we all," Captain Flint added, standing up. "Where've you been, lad? How did you get here?"  
  
"Hitched a lift with the East India Company," Jack said, disentangling Anamaria. "Did you see that frigate sail in earlier, cap'n?"  
  
"The new one? Aye, I did," Flint said.  
  
"That one. I was aloft furling canvas," Jack returned. "Got a pretty souvenir from them, too." He rolled up his sleeve and showed the captain his scar, now healing well but still a livid pink.  
  
"Those bastards!" Thornton exclaimed. "Who do they think they are?"  
  
Jack accepted a jacket from Carpenter, and sat down to tell the crew his tale. He did so briefly and, for once, without exaggerating any of the facts. "And I reckon they'll be here to search the ship before the night's out," he concluded. "Captain, we do not want to be on their wrong side. That frigate's got enough cannon to send the _Pearl_ and all in her to Davy Jones."  
  
The captain's face was grim. He nodded. "I reckon you're right, Jack. I'm not sorry to see you back, but I will be if we lose the _Pearl_." He pushed his chair back. "All right, gentlemen. All hands on deck! We've a bright moon to steer by and a fair wind - let's get this lady under way." The pirates hurried on deck, and Jack made to follow them, but Flint stopped him. "Not you - it's you they're after, and you'll catch your death. Go and get some dry gear on."  
  
Nodding, Jack made for the sleeping quarters.  
  
His hammock was still hanging, with his hat and his blanket and a spare shirt neatly piled in it. He picked up the hat and stroked it lovingly, before carefully putting it down again and changing his shirt. He had no spare breeches, so he contented himself with taking the wet ones off and wringing them out, and then putting them back on again. Finally, he untied his headscarf and replaced it in the preferred manner, letting his hair hang free to dry.  
  
There was a clatter as the anchor was weighed, and Jack felt the ship start to move as the night breeze caught the sails. The floor tilted as the _Black Pearl_ went about, her bow turning out to sea. Jack heard the rush of water beginning under her keel, and the creak of wood and rope. He smiled to himself, and climbed into his hammock to fall happily asleep.  
  
By morning, they were well out at sea, and Jack came on deck to see blue sky and blue water and the green of the coast some distance away. He ran his hands affectionately along the battered rail and reflected that the _Pearl_'s old wood was much more beautiful than the carefully tended, perfect paintwork of the _Castle Frigate_.  
  
"Are you glad to be back?"  
  
Jack turned, and looked down at Anamaria who had appeared beside him with a mop.  
  
"I am, aye."  
  
"I am glad you're back," she said, examining her toes. She held out the mop. "The captain says that you have to do some work."  
  
He took the mop, and they settled to sluicing the decks. Anamaria hauled up buckets of water, and Jack mopped the decks and sent the water into the scuppers. Both of them got splashed, but neither of them minded.  
  
Towards noon there was a call from aloft, where Joffo was on watch. "Sail ho, _capitaine_!"  
  
"What sail?" Flint yelled back.  
  
"Three masts. New white canvas. Frigate!" Joffo returned.  
  
"Sparrow, get up there and tell me if it's your ship," the captain ordered.  
  
Jack nodded, and scampered quickly up the rigging to join the Frenchman.  
  
"She's a mile or so astern of us," Joffo said, pointing. "She's got all her canvas on."  
  
"That's her," Jack said, and climbed swiftly down again to tell Flint.  
  
"Can she catch us?" the captain asked.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"If we add all our canvas?"  
  
Jack thought about it. "Then we can get away. And we should. I don't like running, cap'n, but if they catch us we haven't a hope."  
  
Flint considered Jack. "Running doesn't suit, but ship and crew matter more." He raised his voice. "Stir yourselves - we're piling on canvas."  
  
The men moved to their positions, and O'Connell struck up a shanty. The _Pearl_ gathered speed, the water beneath the keel rushing past joyfully. Captain Flint adjusted the course to make best use of the wind, and the chasing ship gradually, but surely, lost ground.  
  
"I hope that's the last we'll see of 'em," Flint said. Perched high above the deck, Jack fervently agreed with him.  
  



	11. Chapter 11

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** There'll be another break after this chapter, I'm afraid - I'm going away again and am going to be writing the old-fashioned way whilst I'm gone. So even when I'm back an update might take a few days, 'cos of typing up! Enjoy this chapter, for now, anyway - and as ever, thanks for all the reviews!_   
  
----  
  
It was raining. Not a fierce, drenching tropical storm, but the steady drizzle that belonged to only one place on earth. It was cold, and grey, and miserable. As Jack Sparrow waited for the order to begin lowering the sails, he wished he were anywhere but here - sailing up the Solent into Portsmouth Harbour.  
  
They had spent a busy and dangerous eighteen months in the Indian Ocean, dodging the East India Company and robbing any vessel not flying the Company's colours. Several men had lost their lives. Jack himself had narrowly escaped recapture on no less than three separate occasions. Eventually, following a firefight with one of the East India brigs, Captain Flint had decided enough was enough. The _Black Pearl_ turned westwards, and set off for home.  
  
Most of the crew had been away from England for at least six years. Some, such as Elias Carpenter, had been away longer, having joined the _Pearl_ in the Caribbean. And some, like Anamaria, had never been to Europe before in their lives.  
  
Jack could just see her, standing on the deck in someone else's cape, shivering in the drizzle. She looked small next to the men, but proud.  
  
Joffo clambered up and shimmied along the rope to stand next to Jack, gripping the topsail's boom.  
  
"This weather!"  
  
"Welcome to Merry Old England, mate," Jack said miserably.  
  
"You at least should be 'appy to be 'ome," Joffo returned. "Me, I'd rather be in Marseille, where it is warm and sunny."  
  
"Why d'you think I joined the _Pearl_, eh?" Jack asked. "Because I liked this town? Hardly. Couldn't wait to be rid of it. And I don't want to be back - savvy?"  
  
From below, they heard the shout of "heave!", and the sail began to move.  
  
They anchored a little way out into the harbour, exactly as they had six years before. Captain Flint gathered his crew together.  
  
"We'll be here at least a week. Keep your heads down, gents - don't draw too much attention to yourselves." He looked hard at Jack.  
  
"I don't do it deliberately," Jack said, shrugging. "Just happens, natural like."  
  
The crew laughed.  
  
"Well, all the same," Flint continued, "remember we're never popular here, and there's a deal of marines around. Particularly now the King's returned. I'll be staying at the 'Anchor and Chain' - if you decide you don't want to take ship wi' me when we leave, come and see me there. I'll pass on your share."  
  
A group of men lowered one of the boats and rowed across to the harbour straight away, to see wives or to find shelter from the drizzle in a tavern. Jack hung back. He had no immediate desire to set foot on home soil; indeed the only reason he really wanted to go ashore was to see if he could find Bootstrap Bill Turner.  
  
He took a pile of lines down below, where there was shelter from the rain, and set to whipping the frayed ends. Anamaria came to join him, sitting on the floor by his side and drawing her knees up to her chest.  
  
"Are you not going?" she asked.  
  
Jack glanced at her. In the past year the child was showing signs of becoming an adult, her hair longer now and her figure slightly fuller. But the eyes that met his were the same as ever - bright, intelligent, and guarded.  
  
"Not yet, love," he said.  
  
"Do you have family here?"  
  
Cutting the end off a cord with his knife, Jack paused before answering.  
  
"Me dad used to live here. Probably still does, if he's alive."  
  
"Don't you want to see him?" Anamaria questioned.  
  
He set one coil of rope aside and picked up the next. "I really don't know. Can't see as he'd be pleased to see me, on account of me running off and breaking indenture to him."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"It means that he was teaching me to be a carpenter. Do stuff with wood. I hated it; always wanted to go to sea but he wouldn't allow that, see? When the _Pearl_ arrived I took my chance."  
  
Anamaria twisted a strand of hair around a finger. "Maybe you should go and find him, and then maybe you will not hate him any more."  
  
Jack looked sideways at her.  
  
"When did you get so wise, lass?"  
  
She laughed. "While you were being foolish and getting caught."  
  
Overnight, Jack lay awake thinking about his childhood. He remembered splinters in his fingers, a sore back from bending over a workbench, never getting outside. He remembered, faintly, a dark-eyed woman who never laughed and who died of consumption when he was still small. He remembered his parish priest teaching him and some other lads their letters, and how his father had said that carpenters did not need to know how to read. Above all, he remembered being mostly miserable.  
  
In the morning it was still raining. But Jack had made his decision, and he straightened his headscarf and put on his hat, and went to find Anamaria.  
  
"Fancy seeing Portsmouth?" he asked her.  
  
"You are going ashore?"  
  
"That I am. Some of the other men are coming too; the boat's being made ready now."  
  
She jumped up, and followed him to the boat.  
  
They left it tied up by the docks, and the men dispersed in different directions. Jack noticed two of them making their way towards the 'Anchor and Chain', and deduced that when the _Black Pearl_ sailed again, she would have some new crew members.  
  
Anamaria stayed close by his elbow as he made his way down narrow, crowded streets away from the harbour. Both of them got several curious glances - Jack for his outlandish clothing and decoration, Anamaria for her dark skin. Jack ignored the stares and let his feet take him where he wanted to go.  
  
After fifteen minutes' brisk walking, they found themselves in a filthy and smelly street, outside a shop whose sign showed a tree and an axe, surmounted by a small bird.  
  
Jack took a deep breath, and pushed open the door.  
  
There was the sound of hammering, and the scrape of a saw. The room was dark even after the grey of outside, and for a moment Jack and Anamaria stood dripping on the threshold.  
  
The door closed with a bang, and the hammering paused. Footsteps sounded, and through an open door a man appeared. His face was lined and red with the effort of work, his dark hair greying and greasy. He peered at the visitors.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
Jack took off his hat, and stepped into the square of light let in by a small, high window. The carpenter shrugged.  
  
"If you want something, you'd better say. I ain't got all day."  
  
"Glad to know you missed me, father," Jack said. "I'll be going then, shall I?"  
  
His father stepped closer, and peered at Jack's tanned face, his dark-rimmed eyes, and the beads jingling on his braids.  
  
"Huh."  
  
"Sail halfway across the world," Jack said, turning his head to Anamaria, "come home, and I get a grunt. Bloody typical."  
  
"You were apprenticed to _me_!" his father said, harshly. "You had no right to run off. D'you know how much trouble you caused?"  
  
"Fair payment for ten years of little love," Jack retorted. "Pay like with like - savvy?"  
  
"Fair payment? Fair payment?" the carpenter said, his voice almost a growl. "I'll give you fair payment, boy! Coming here with your trinkets, dressed like one of them no-good low-down pirates, and expecting me to say I missed you? I'll give you what you deserve, but it's not fair payment!"  
  
He swung his fist back and drove it forwards. But Jack saw it coming, and with the agility gained from six years aboard ship and five years of sword fighting, danced sideways out of the range of the blow. His father's punch went wide. Jack moved in with one of his own, and caught the carpenter square in his blotchy jaw. There was a crack, and the older man crumpled to the floor.  
  
Jack shook his hand in the air. "I reckon," he said, "that I've been needing to do that for too long." He added a kick to his father's side. "And now I never need come back again."  
  
He put his hat back on and opened the door. Anamaria followed him out into the street, silent.  
  
"Where shall we go now, then?" Jack asked her.  
  
"It is your town," she said.  
  
"Used to be," he returned. "Now it's just another port of call. But there's a friend I want to find, before I leave it."  
  
However Bill Turner proved to be hard to find. Jack had no way of knowing where his old friend would be - indeed he had no way of knowing if he was even alive. So they began the search with the taverns closest to the harbour, asking customers and innkeepers, sailors and passers-by. Nobody had heard of William Turner, Bill Turner, or Bootstrap Bill. By noon Jack was becoming decidedly depressed.  
  
Anamaria bought them both some food, hot pies from a stall, and they settled down by the waterside to eat them. Jack was morose, his earlier euphoria at having beaten his father gone.  
  
"What job would he be doing?" Anamaria questioned, in between bites of pie.  
  
"He's a pirate, lass," Jack said. "Something to do with ships. He might not even be here."  
  
"I think someone has taken my friend away," Anamaria said. "Have you seen Jack Sparrow? We should find him before we look for Bill Turner."  
  
"You've gone mad," Jack said.  
  
"But it is not like you to be so ... black ... in mood!" she persisted. "If he is here, you will find him. Won't you?"  
  
Brushing crumbs off his fingers, Jack managed a grin. "'Course I will. I'm Jack Sparrow ..."  
  
"Savvy?" she chimed in. "Maybe we are looking in the wrong places. Maybe he works in a shop."  
  
"You mean, like a shipbuilder's, or a chandler's?" Jack asked. Anamaria nodded. "My dear lass, you are wonderful," he said, and jumped to his feet.  
  
They began, as with the taverns, by the harbour. In the first two chandler's shops the name of Turner rang no bells, and it was the same story in the largest shipbuilders' premises. Jack refused to let himself get disheartened again, and they moved inland a little.  
  
The ninth place they tried was a general ships' outfitters, selling a variety of equipment for ships and smaller boats. The owner, standing behind a sort of counter at the back of the shop, seemed friendly enough.  
  
"How can I help you, sir and missy?" he asked. Jack swept off his hat and gave a little bow.  
  
"I'm looking for a man called William Turner. Bill Turner. Old shipmate of mine. Last I heard he was Portsmouth bound - I don't suppose you know him?"  
  
The owner nodded. "Aye, that I do. Good man. He's at the back mending a sail."  
  
"He's here?" Jack could scarcely believe his ears.  
  
"That he is," the owner agreed. "Through that door."  
  
Jack grinned broadly, and crossed to shake the owner's hand. "Thank you. Thank you."  
  
"Go on with you, lad," the owner said. "Don't keep him from his work too long."  
  
Jack hurried through the door indicated, and down a short passageway into the back courtyard. Here, it seemed, a lot of the work for the shop was done. A figure was seated on a low stool surrounded by a swathe of thick creamy canvas, head down, stitching with a large needle. At the sound of Jack's footsteps, he looked up and dropped the canvas.  
  
"Jack Sparrow!"  
  
"Thought I'd drop by and see how you were doing," Jack said, casually.  
  
Bill Turner threw his head back and laughed, and pushing away the sail stood up.  
  
"I'm doing all right, lad. I'm doing all right."  
  
He came up to Jack, and they shook hands, before Bill, still with a smile on his face, put his arm around Jack's shoulders. "Come and have a drink wi' me, lad. We've got a deal to catch up on." 


	12. Chapter 12

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** Apologies for the break - thanks for the reviews!_  
  
----  
  
They found an empty corner in a busy tavern and settled down with tankards of ale for Bill and Jack, and watered-down wine for Anamaria.  
  
"First," Bill said, after a long pull of his drink, "who's this?" He gestured at Anamaria with his mug.  
  
"Remember the new cabin boy?" Jack asked.  
  
"André, wasn't it? What's he got to ... oh." Realisation had apparently dawned. Bill nodded at Anamaria. "How long'd take afore they found you out, lass?"  
  
"A few months," Anamaria said.  
  
"They do say it's terrible bad luck to have a woman aboard ship," Bootstrap mused. "Had any bad luck?"  
  
"Not until Jack got himself captured," Anamaria returned.  
  
Bill turned raised eyebrows to Jack.  
  
"Could've happened to anybody!" Jack protested.  
  
"Ah, but it happened to you," Bill said. "Who caught you?"  
  
Jack ran through the tale for Bootstrap and, glancing round to check that nobody was paying them any particular attention, rolled up his sleeve to show his friend the brand.  
  
"That's what I call unfair," Bill said, examining it. "No call for that."  
  
"Rather that than the gallows," Jack pointed out. "Anyway, it was good fun letting 'em think they had me tamed."  
  
"More fool them," Bill said, and they clinked tankards together. "But, that's not all that's changed, Jack - what's that black stuff under your eyes? Coal dust?"  
  
"Different sort of kohl," explained Jack. "Don't you like it? I put it on just for you." He fluttered his eyelashes dramatically.  
  
Bootstrap laughed. "Nah, I know you better than that, mate. You never cared what anyone thought about you, and I reckon you never will."  
  
Jack drank. "Enough chatter about me, William Turner. What happened with that lass you wanted to woo? Did you marry the lovely lady?"  
  
Bill's face split into a grin. "I did, right enough. She hadn't forgotten me after all."  
  
"Does said adoring spouse have a name?" Jack asked.  
  
"Elsie. Didn't marry her for her name, though, did I?"  
  
Shrugging, Jack said: "It's as good a name as any. Was it her that stopped you going back to sea?"  
  
"No, lad, it was my choice as stopped me," Bill said. "You don't marry someone and then run back to the sea, Jack - you stay with them. Else, you marry the sea." He paused. "'Sides, we'd like children, would me and Elsie, and that won't happen if I'm riding the ocean waves aboard the _Pearl_, now, will it?" He picked up his tankard and drank.  
  
Jack watched his friend for a moment. "She doesn't know you're a pirate, does she?"  
  
Bootstrap looked around hastily. "Hush a bit, Jack, we ain't alone here. No, she reckons I'm a merchant sailor."  
  
"But why?" asked Anamaria, over the top of her drink.  
  
"Elsie ain't ... Elsie ain't that sort of woman," Bill said, somewhat defensively. "There are lasses ..."  
  
"In Tortuga, for example," put in Jack.  
  
"In Tortuga, for example," Bill agreed, "who like the idea of their man being a buccaneer. Gives 'em a thrill, like."  
  
"Oh," Anamaria said.  
  
"But my Elsie's respectable. Her father's got an honest trade as a fisherman. I told 'em most of the truth - said I'd been away in the West Indies, trading. They didn't enquire too much. I bought us a house with the spoils Cap'n Flint gave me. I'm happy, Jack."  
  
"Away from the sea?" Jack said, bemused. "How can you be?"  
  
"It's there, ain't it?" Bill waved a hand vaguely towards the harbour. "I see it every day."  
  
"But it's not the same," Jack argued. "No deck under your feet, no wind in the sails ... there's land, and all."  
  
"You're just mad," Bootstrap said affectionately.  
  
They drank in companionable silence for a while. Jack looked over his tankard at his friend and registered the changes - a few lines beginning around Bootstrap's eyes when he smiled; shorter, neater hair; tidy and clean clothes. Yet there was still a rogueish glint in Bill Turner's eye, and Jack fancied that if he worked on his friend a little he might be able to persuade him to rejoin the _Black Pearl_.  
  
"I'm sure the capn'n'd like to see you," he said, accordingly.  
  
"Old Flint? How is he?"  
  
"Same as ever," Jack said. "None of us have changed that much, ye know - O'Connell still thinks we're all English bastards, apart from Joffo who's a French bastard ... Elias still misses his parries and lunges badly, Thornton still plays tough but ain't - you know how it is."  
  
"Well, I get what you mean - but I reckon you've changed, Jack. Started to grow up, or something."  
  
Jack leaned over. "That's what happens, mate, when time passes."  
  
Shaking his head, Bill drained his tankard. "Like I said, mad. Well, I've got to go, Jack - the missus will be fretting."  
  
"You've got all hen-pecked," said Jack. "Any chance we get to meet fair Elsie?"  
  
Bill looked doubtful. "I would take you, Jack, but thing is ... looking like ..."  
  
"A pirate," supplied Anamaria helpfully. Bill looked uncomfortable, but nodded.  
  
"Aye, 'tis that, lad."  
  
"Are you ashamed of being what you are?" Jack asked. "It was you what taught me about being a pirate, Bill - not what a man can do, but what a man does - savvy? And now here you are, giving it up for a lass?"  
  
"Eh!" said Anamaria.  
  
"It's not so simple," Bill said. "Like I said, Elsie's respectable. I love her, Jack. Wouldn't hurt her, not for the world. And it'd hurt her if she knew I'd lied to her."  
  
"You're a pirate," said Jack. "Comes with the territory."  
  
Pushing back his stool, Bill stood up. "I'm late, Jack. I'll call in on the cap'n tomorrow, if I get a chance."  
  
"'Anchor and Chain'," Jack said.  
  
Bill nodded. "You'll understand, when you're older, lad."  
  
He turned. They watched him weave through the other drinkers and go out.  
  
Jack tipped the rest of his ale down his throat. "Could never do that," he said, half to himself. "Will never leave the sea."  
  
Anamaria looked at him thoughtfully. "I think you never will," she said.  
  
It was dusk when they returned to the harbour, and untied one of the _Pearl_'s boats, rowing it back to the ship through the maze of vessels at anchor. Swinging his legs over the rail, Jack ran his hand along it and sighed happily.  
  
Anamaria climbed up after him. "Jack missed you," she told the ship.  
  
"That I did," Jack said. "That I did."  
  
Nobody else came back to the _Pearl_ that evening, and Jack brought his blanket on deck and slept rolled up in it, lulled by the gentle motion of the ship at anchor.  
  
In the morning, Jack woke with a start, as a boat touched the side of the ship. He rolled out of his blanket, grabbed a belaying pin, and peered over the side.  
  
"'Tis only me, lad." Thornton was climbing the ladder. "Guessed you'd be on board. Couldn't stay away from the old lady?"  
  
Jack gave him a hand over the rail. "Didn't fancy staying in town."  
  
Thornton's grey seaman's eyes crinkled in a sympathetic grin. "Nor would I, were this Whitby. Home no longer." He handed Jack a sheet of paper. "But the cap'n wants some errands running, supplies to be ordered and that, so you'll have to venture back ashore. Can you read that?"  
  
Peering at the paper, Jack read out slowly: "Ten ells of rope, thick; five cartons of ship's biscuit; salted meat; sail needles; brooms."  
  
"Excellent, lad." Thornton clapped him on the shoulder. "You know t'cheapest places, no doubt - tell 'em it's for Cap'n Flint's ship. Should they ask what the vessel's name is, find another shop."  
  
Jack nodded.  
  
"And Jack, lad," Thornton said, "try and make yourself look a tad less interesting - no need to draw attention to yourself."  
  
When he tied the skiff up by the harbour, Jack had pulled his hair back and had removed his colourful sash, in an attempt to reduce his profile a little. He soon had his tasks completed, with the merchants promising to send the goods over to the _Black Pearl_ later that day. Jack himself was strolling back towards the harbour when on the other side of the street he spied Bill Turner, arm-in-arm with a very pretty young woman wearing a simple blue dress and bonnet. Both were laughing at something - they looked radiantly happy. Jack grinned to himself and wandered across to them.  
  
"William Turner!" he said, in a surprised tone, as he neared them.  
  
Bootstrap's face was first irritated, then quickly amused, as he took in Jack's current appearance. He raised an eyebrow at his friend, and said: "Fancy seeing you here!"  
  
"Every sailor has to put into harbour now and then," Jack said. "Won't you introduce me to your lovely companion, now?"  
  
"My wife, Elsie Turner," Bill said. "An old shipmate of mine, Elsie. Jack Sparrow."  
  
Jack took Elsie Turner's hand and kissed it with a little bow. "Delighted," he said.  
  
Elsie dropped him a courtesy. "Likewise," she returned, in a voice soft with a Somerset burr. "Were you on the same ship as Bill in the Caribbean?"  
  
"Absolutely," Jack agreed. "Good sailor, your Bill. Taught me a lot."  
  
Bootstrap gave Jack a warning look, but Elsie seemed thrilled to hear the praise of her husband. "I never doubted it," she said. "He tells me so little about his time at sea. "Her face lit up. "Why don't you come and sup with us tonight, Mr Sparrow, and tell me more?"  
  
"Jack, please!" protested Jack. "But no, I can't, Mrs Turner - there's work aboard ship to be done."  
  
Bill looked distinctly relieved. Elsie was more disappointed. Jack decided to put his friend out of his misery.  
  
"Matter of fact, I should go now. Very pleased to meet you, Mrs Turner - Mr Turner."  
  
Elsie smiled, and Bootstrap grasped Jack's hand briefly. "Sly dog, you," he said softly. "Good luck, Jack."  
  
"You too," Jack said. "I'll send the _Pearl_ your regards."  
  
Bootstrap nodded, a touch wistfully. "Yeah. You do that." He glanced over his shoulder to where Elsie had met a friend, with whom she was chatting animatedly. "Take what you can."  
  
"Give nothing back," Jack agreed. "I'll keep an eye out for you in Tortuga. Five years, tops."  
  
"You hope!" Bill said. He smiled. "Until whenever."  
  
"Tortuga," said Jack, and turned away. 


	13. Chapter 13

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note: **just to keep you up to date, this chapter takes place in 1661; a year after the events of chapters 11 and 12. Jack is now 18._   
  
Jack was running. His braids flapped about his face and got in his eyes. Sweat streamed down his forehead, the soles of his new boots tapped on the hard earth under his feet. He risked a glance behind him, and caught a blurred glimpse of the shining tips of bayonets. Turning his eyes to the road ahead again, he set his teeth and sped up. They had come ashore in Port Royal to trade some loot for supplies, but had bargained without the town's sudden growth in the twelve months since the _Black Pearl_ had put in there on her way back from England. The fort had been strengthened and improved, the garrison enlarged, and the port was now a bustling, prosperous place rather than the fledgling settlement it had still been only a year before.  
  
In the middle of a deal exchanging a quantity of silver jewellery for casks of rum, the militia had burst in. The men in the tavern scattered; Jack had squeezed through a window and set off down a sidestreet. But the militia had picked up his trail, and he currently had four men armed with bayonets chasing him. Briefly, Jack had contemplated turning and facing them, but all he was armed with was his sword. As confident as he was with the weapon, he liked his life too much to throw it away in a needless burst of heroics.  
  
And so, he ran. Behind him, he heard a cry: "Catch 'im, fellows!" From somewhere, Jack found new breath.  
  
He rounded a corner and saw in front of him a large wooden building, a double door standing half-open. He darted inside, and tucked himself into a dark corner where he waited. Jack's heart was beating hard, and his breath was coming short, but his mind was perfectly clear. He had to stay away from the militiamen, at all cost, and get back to the _Pearl_.  
  
In the dark he waited, fingers curled around the hilt of his sword. The footsteps hammered past the door, still open a crack, and faded.  
  
Jack let out his breath and looked around him.  
  
A few candles were lit, away in the darkness, flickering gently in the breeze from the door. The building smelt of new timber and candle smoke, with a hint of sweet blossom and something else that reminded Jack vaguely of India. Untwining his fingers from his sword, he set off towards the lights.  
  
The building seemed to be mostly empty, though he managed to walk into a bench. He muffled his curse quickly, and paused to rub a banged knee. Moving again, he came to the lights and saw that they were placed on a large table at the end of the building, upon which stood a grand golden cross.  
  
Jack let out a low whistle. The cross was magnificent, worth as much as all the loot they had been trading earlier in the even. It was engraved with a leafy design and in the centre of the four arms a red stone was set. He stepped closer, and reached out a hand to touch it.  
  
Then, he paused. Candles, flowers, rows of benches, and a cross - all this meant something to the pirate, something hailing vaguely from his childhood. And suddenly it came back to him. Being made to go to church on Sundays, to say prayers that meant nothing to him, to express a belief in a God he did not believe in. He remembered too the gentle, well-meaning priest who had taught him to read, and who had been totally walked over by his charges.  
  
Jack pulled his arm back, and turned aside, but not without a backward glance at the glorious cross on the altar.  
  
He pushed his way through a pair of curtains concealing a doorway, and found himself in a small side room. Several long robes were hanging against the wall. Jack ran his hand over them, and had his idea.  
  
A few minutes later, a slim dark figure emerged from the church, hands folded demurely before it. It set off back towards Port Royal.  
  
The tumult that had followed the militiamen's invasion of the tavern had quietened somewhat, and Jack passed by several groups of townsfolk and two of militamen, exchanging polite nods with them. He turned towards the harbour, where he remarked that the _Black Pearl_'s distinctive masts and black sails were no longer to be seen - evidently, some of the crew had reached the ship and had sailed her out to sea.  
  
Considering his options, Jack turned and thoughtfully strolled back towards the town.  
  
He had a little money in his pocket, and he fished some out and placed it in the belt pouch of his stolen robe. Next, he pulled the brim of the clergyman's hat down low over his face, and headed for one of the more respectable inns.  
  
"Can I 'elp you, vicar?" the innkeeper asked, as Jack approached the bar. This tavern was quiet, and full only of merchant sailors and townspeople, drinking in small groups. No singing, and no cards. It seemed like another world entirely from the piratical one Jack had become used to.  
  
"A room for the night, my good man," he said, keeping his voice gentle. He placed a coin on the counter, which the innkeeper took with a nod. He led Jack through the inn and up a flight of stairs, to a small, clean room. Water was brought, and the innkeeper enquired whether the vicar would like a meal.  
  
Jack shook his head. "I thank you, but no." He placed his hands together and inclined his head. "God bless you," he added, for good measure. The innkeeper nodded, bade him a good night, and disappeared.  
  
Throwing off the hat that went with the robe, and pulling out his own hat from where it was concealed, folded under his sash, Jack settled down to wait for dawn.  
  
He left early, still dressed in his disguise. Few people were about, but as he neared the harbour there was a group of militiamen standing around.  
  
"Beats me," one of them said. "Dunno where she could have hid."  
  
"Big ship like that 'un, can't have gone far," another said. "I wager we should go after 'er."  
  
"Have to wait for captain's orders, though, don't us?" a third man pointed out. "Morning, vicar."  
  
Jack smiled at them. "Good morning!" He kept walking past them, down to his quarry - a light skiff tied up to the pier. The sweeps were in the boat, and he jumped lightly down into it, untied it, and slipped them into the rowlocks.  
  
"Oy! Vicar, where you going?" One of the militiamen had evidently spied him.  
  
Jack waved a hand, and threw off the black hat. "Back to me ship, gentlemen."  
  
"That be no vicar," a man said, his voice panicky. "That be a pirate! One of them what got away last night!"  
  
"Not just any pirate!" Jack shouted back, pulling away smartly. "You'll remember this as the day the _Black Pearl_ and Jack Sparrow got away. So long, gentlemen!" He grinned, and increased his stroke rate, and the skiff began to slip neatly over the water.  
  
He rowed as hard as he can, but after a few minutes he saw with some panic and a little surprise that the militiamen had pushed a dory into the water, and were hastening after him.  
  
They were not rowing perfectly in time, but they were four and he was one, and they were four big men. Jack thought quickly, glanced over his shoulder, and pulled hard on his starboard oar.  
  
The two little boats exited the harbour and hit the swell of deeper waters. In his skiff, Jack gritted his teeth, tried not to think about blisters, and kept going. For a moment, the dory seemed to be losing ground, but then the militiamen regained their rhythm and were gaining again. The bowman looked round, the dory adjusted its course, and the race was on.  
  
Jack turned in towards a small sandy cove and began pulling for shore. The militiamen followed him, and he speeded up his stroke rate. A few minutes later, he was pulling the skiff up on to the beach and hurrying round to hide himself behind a group of large rocks.  
  
The militiamen landed shortly after him and jumped out of their dory, drawing their swords.  
  
"'Ere, footprints!" The men gathered around the marks of Jack's boots on the sand. Above them, Jack crouched quietly on the top of a rock, sword drawn. The militiamen looked around, searching for him; one of them raised a bayonet. Jack took a deep breath, and jumped down.  
  
"Aha!" said the man with the bayonet, and swung round to meet Jack. Jack gripped his sword hilt, parried the bayonet blade and with all his force drove his sword into the man's belly.  
  
Time stood still. The militiaman looked down at the darker red blossoming on his tunic, looked up with frightened eyes at Jack. Jack pulled his arm back, and the sword came out with a slick, fleshy noise. His opponent's bayonet fell to the ground, and then the man followed, his body hitting the sand with a thud.  
  
Nobody moved. The other three redcoats stared at the body of their comrade. Jack took a step back, and then another, and he turned. Two boats were before him, the dory and the skiff, and suddenly he realised what he should have done all along. He picked up a rock and dropped it square in the centre of the dory, splintering the wooden boards, before pushing his skiff out, leaping into it, and starting to row as fast as he could.  
  
At some point, well out from shore and with not a sail in sight, Jack shipped his sweeps and let the skiff drift. He pulled off the black clergyman's robe and threw it overboard, watching the material float away. It felt like part of him was floating with it.  
  
Exhaustion swept over him, and Jack threw the light sea-anchor over the side of the skiff before curling up on the single seat, and falling into a restless sleep.  
  
He woke with the heat of noon beating down on his face, and the creaking of a large ship close at hand. Voices seemed to be hailing him, and bleary-eyed Jack sat up and looked around.  
  
The skiff had drifted only a little further offshore, thanks to the anchor. The ship looming over him was huge, tall and dark, but the faces peering down from the side were friendly.  
  
"Grab a line, Jack!" Anamaria called down, her face alight with happiness at seeing him. One of the crew threw a rope, and Jack caught it and was hauled aboard the _Pearl_.  
  
"God, lad, you look dreadful," Thornton said, catching his arm as he came over the rail. "What happened? We'd given up hope on ye ..."  
  
"... _encore une fois_," muttered Joffo.  
  
"Last place we expected you was floating adrift out of harbour."  
  
"Not adrift," Jack said. "Sea-anchor."  
  
"Nonetheless," Captain Flint put in, "we didn't expect to see you again. What happened?"  
  
Jack looked up at their concerned faces, and knew that of all men, these would sympathise with him, help him. He grinned.  
  
"I pinched a priest's robes, stole a skiff, and outran a bunch of redcoats," he said glibly. "All in a day's work, you know."  
  
The crew laughed, and O'Connell helped Jack to his feet. "This lad's got more lives than a cat," he said.  
  
Anamaria beamed. "Of course he does," she said. "He's Jack Sparrow."  
  
Jack joined in the merriment, and followed Elias Carpenter up the mainmast to unfurl the main topsail. But later he retrieved his hat and his swordbelt from the deck, and disappeared down below decks to clean the blade of dried blood in a quiet corner. 


	14. Chapter 14

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** Malacca is modern-day Singapore and was in the hands of the Dutch for over two centuries from 1641. This of course makes the line in the movie a tad inaccurate. But "Obviously you've never been to Malacca" would have fallen a bit flat, wouldn't it?_   
  
----  
  
"I reckon," Elias said thoughtfully, "that lass likes you."  
  
Jack tied a knot with nimble fingers. "Eh?"  
  
"The lass," Elias repeated, gesturing down below them to where Anamaria was slowly swabbing the deck, her eyes drifting upwards. "I reckon she likes you."  
  
"What lass?" Jack asked, moving closer to the mast and gathering up another fold of sail.  
  
Elias sighed deeply, tying a knot on his side of the mast and moving in himself. "What lass d'ye think? How many lasses are there on this ship?"  
  
"She's not a lass," Jack said, furling the next section of canvas. "She's just ... she's just the cabin boy. We're friends, savvy?"  
  
"I mean," said Elias patiently, "that she fancies ye, lad. Look at her. Can't take her eyes off you."  
  
"Oh," Jack said. "You sure, Elias?" He sat astride the spar and took hold of the nearest sheet, ready to start climbing down. "But she's just a lass."  
  
"You're just a lad," Elias said, tying his last knot and glancing sideways at Jack. "Not unheard of, two young folk your age together."  
  
Jack swung his legs over the spar. "We're shipmates, Elias, nothing more."  
  
Carpenter shrugged. "I still reckon she likes you."  
  
Shaking his head, Jack climbed quickly down to the deck, where he grinned amicably at Anamaria. She returned his smile and set her head down to her work.  
  
For a while the _Black Pearl_ had laid low in the Caribbean, hiding off Tortuga until the militiamen stopped hunting them. Flint had then made cautious forays, and discovered that merchant ships were being escorted by the navy and that an easy raid was not to be had. At length, with the tides being right, the decision was made to sail east once more.  
  
Jack had been sorry to see the blue waters of the Caribbean recede behind them. He had decided that he was happiest there, with the high cliffs and the tall palms on shore, and the warm sun on his face, and rum aplenty. He had no particular desire to go east again, but on the other hand he did not want to leave his beloved _Pearl_ to join another vessel, and so he had stayed aboard under Flint's command. Some of the crew, amongst them Joffo, had chosen to leave the ship. It had been gently suggested to Anamaria that perhaps she should go ashore too, and seek out an occupation better suited to a woman, but she had laughed.  
  
"Like those other women in Tortuga you are all so fond of?" she said. The deputation of pirates shuffled their feet and had the grace to look embarrassed. "I am not the only woman sailing the oceans," Anamaria pointed out.  
  
"None o' the others are good luck either," someone said in an undertone.  
  
"I am not leaving the ship," their cabin girl said, firmly, and they had given up. Jack was pleased - Anamaria was his peer, of a similar age, and they were firm friends. They argued, often and loudly, but each knew that in a tight spot the other would come through. But as the _Black Pearl_ sailed eastwards, daring the winds of the Atlantic, he had caught her watching him more and more often.  
  
Jack was not sure what to make of Anamaria's devotion to him. He was not oblivious to the fact that the women in Tortuga seemed to find him attractive - indeed he enjoyed their attention, and encouraged it when he could, as a pleasurable game. For his own part, he appreciated a pretty girl, but had not yet seen anyone he fancied spending more than a night with. Jack Sparrow's heart was still firmly with his ship, his home. Anamaria, however, was a different matter, mainly because she came with the ship. If Jack was aboard the _Pearl_, then so was she. When he sat down and thought about it, he saw that she was growing into a fine-looking woman, with long, smooth black hair and honey-coloured skin darkened by the sun, but she was still just Anamaria.  
  
He leant now on the rail, waiting for the next order from the captain, and wondering if his friend would ever say anything to him, or if she was simply going to carry on staring at him and thinking he was unaware.  
  
They were anchored off the Dutch port of Malacca. The voyage east had been fraught with anxiety, but free of incident - once again, the _Black Pearl_ had been lucky. Captain Flint had scrupulously avoided any ship that could have been sailing for the East India Company, though they had cheerfully attacked a couple of Dutch East India vessels along with the usual choice of French, Spanish and Portuguese merchants. They had kept well away from the larger Indian ports, putting in instead at smaller settlements where trade proved to be excellent.  
  
Unlike their previous time in the east, the _Pearl_ had met two other pirate ships on this voyage. Flint approached cautiously, with arms at the ready, but on both occasions the other ships had been friendly. The captains had discussed potential for attack, and Flint learned that Malacca, under Dutch control, was an easy-going town and well worth a visit. Accordingly, the _Pearl_ had set her sails and headed further east than she had ever been before.  
  
"Nice place, this," O'Connell approved, looking across the water at the harbour. "Not bad."  
  
"Not half!" agreed Elias, joining them. He pointed down below the ship, where a small boat punted along by a long oar over the stern had appeared. A strikingly pretty girl was holding up some sort of vegetable, clearly offering it for sale. The pirates waved cheerfully down at her, and she smiled back.  
  
"Reckon they're all like that?" O'Connell wondered aloud.  
  
"How much leave do we get?" Jack asked, watching the girl in her boat. "Ow!" He turned round, and looked, affronted at Anamaria, who had hit him hard. "What was that for?"  
  
"Look at you all!" she said, angrily. "That poor girl - why would she want any of you?"  
  
"Eh?" said Jack, honestly baffled. "Can't a man wonder how long he gets ashore?"  
  
"You only want to go ashore for the girls!" she retorted. "You wouldn't leave the ship else."  
  
O'Connell and Carpenter exchanged glances, and slipped off. Anamaria's fury remained focused on Jack.  
  
"What if that's true?" Jack said. "I'm a man, love - I like a pretty girl." She stared at him, and he looked back and then realised what he'd said. "Oh, flaming 'eck!" he exclaimed. "Look, I didn't mean it like that, Ana."  
  
"Didn't you?" Anamaria glared back at him with damp brown eyes. She waved her hand. "Go ashore, Jack Sparrow. Have your fun." She shot him a last, furious look and turned on her heel.  
  
"Hell," said Jack with feeling, and went to help lower the boats.  
  
He tried calling for Anamaria before they left, but she was nowhere to be seen. The men told him not to worry.  
  
"She'll come round, lad," O'Connell reassured him, as they pulled away.  
  
Jack heaved his oar through the water and did not bother replying.  
  
The pirates found themselves a place selling the local rice wine, which was acceptable if not rum, and settled down to drink contentedly. Some of the men teased Jack a little about Anamaria, but he returned the taunts with some choice comebacks and they let off quickly.  
  
After a while, a group of girls shyly approached the men, settled down and accepted drinks. They did not speak any English - or indeed any of the other languages which the _Pearl_'s crew spoke - but smiled prettily and drank. The wine flowed, and the men laughed, telling tales of their exploits on the high seas. It did not seem to matter that the girls could not understand them; the stories got wilder and wilder anyway.  
  
Jack joined in a little, but half his mind was still on Anamaria. It was only when a couple of the men left with their arms around a girl apiece that he sat up and livened up, and began to pay attention to the slim Malay next to him. More wine was ordered, and the girl pressed herself closer to him, and eventually Jack stood up and held out his hand. She smiled sweetly at him and took it.  
  
They were wandering down the street outside, Jack letting the girl do the leading, when someone staggered out of a doorway and staggered into Jack.  
  
"_Genade_," the man muttered. Jack caught him and set him straight on his feet, and the man blinked at him. "_Bedankt_ - oy, don't I know you?"  
  
Jack took a step back, put his head on the side and spread his hands. "Dunno, mate."  
  
The other man, peering from behind drink-sozzled eyes, nodded. "No, I do. You're ... what's-his-face, the bird-man." Shaking his head, Jack made to move on. The man took his arm. "Nightingale. That's it, Nightingale. Eshscaped from the _Castle Frigate_. East India Company. Pirate."  
  
"Don't know a Nightingale," Jack said. Then, his curiosity getting the better of himself, he added: "I thought there was no East India Company out here?"  
  
The other man leaned in, conspiratorially. "Not th'English one. Just the Dutch. Me, I changed ships. Mush better with th'Dutch. Wanted t'be a pirate, but couldn't find a ship. So I joined th'Dutch."  
  
Patting the man's shoulder, Jack took the hand of his Malay girl. "Good for you, mate."  
  
"Yesh. Good for me. Nightingale, that was it. Pirate."  
  
Jack laughed, and moved past the drunkard. The girl on his arm smiled up at him and towed him along. He threw just one glance backwards - the other man had fallen to the ground, presumably in a drunken stupor.  
  
His girl led him to a small, neat room above a shop, and leant in to kiss him. Jack wrapped his arms round her and returned the kiss, reflecting that it was a long way since Tortuga, and how better to forget Anamaria and forget the East Indiaman but in the arms of a pretty girl.  
  
He broke away from her, and examined her for a second. She was wearing some sort of tight jacket, fitted around her slender figure and made of embroidered cotton. It seemed to be fastened down the front, but when Jack knelt and tried to focus on the fastenings, his normally nimble fingers gave up.  
  
The girl smiled at him again, and started to undo the top of the jacket, but Jack shook his head. He stood up, kissed her again, and drew his knife from his belt. She started, shying away from him.  
  
Jack grinned at her, slit the fastenings with the knife, and pushed her back on to the bed.  
  
"This is why I like coming ashore," he said, before devoting himself to the matter in hand. 


	15. Chapter 15

_**Disclaimer: **see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** Just a brief note to say a huge thanks to everyone who has reviewed this fic - it's surpassed all my other stories in number of reviews and I'm overwhelmed with the positive response. Thank you._  
  
----  
  
The deck was swathed in dark canvas, and their needles were working in and out of the heavy material.   
  
The _Black Pearl_ had been caught by some stray bullets during a raid. Most of the ship's injuries were minor, but one bullet had gouged a long groove in her decking, and there was a three-foot hole in the foresail. With the loot safely on board, Captain Flint had hove to in sheltered waters and set his crew to mending the damage.   
  
Jack and Anamaria were working on the sail with thick needles and tough thread. Her mouth was set in a thin, concentrated line; he kept glancing up at her and saying something daft. Usually she would have retorted with a sarcastic comment, or laughed at him, but since the incidents in Malacca she had been very cool.   
  
"I give up," Jack said, eventually, pushing his needle through the canvas. "What did I do, Anamaria?"   
  
She looked up, and then looked down again at her end of the rip. Jack sighed, and put his needle down, leaning his elbow on his knee and gazing at his friend. "Look, lass, I can't try and put it right if you haven't told me what's wrong."   
  
"Nothing is wrong." Her voice was taut.   
  
"I ain't stupid," Jack persisted. "May look it, sometimes, but I'm not. Something is wrong."   
  
Anamaria jabbed her needle through the canvas into the palm of her hand. "Aie!" She put the needle down, and rubbed her hand ruefully. "You don't know?"   
  
"What I reckon," Jack said slowly, "is that for some reason you've a problem with us going ashore for the lasses. You knew when you joined this ship we're men and we're pirates, Ana - not some delicate fellow with sensibilities." He shuddered. "God forbid."   
  
She looked down, and picked up her needle again. Pushing it through the canvas, she shrugged. "_Ouais_. That is it. Sort of. It isn't the others, Jack - it is you."   
  
Aha! thought Jack to himself, and he waited for her to continue. Anamaria did another stitch.   
  
"I ... well, I ... I _like_ you," she said, at last. "I mean, I think ... I think that you ..." She blushed under her tan, and tailed off.   
  
Jack nodded. "I wondered," he said. "You keep looking at me."   
  
"So I should not look at a friend?" she returned, with a touch of her usual fire.   
  
"Nah!" Jack laughed. "Course you can look, lass. But you've got to know - you know I think you're great. Good lass, good pirate. But you're ..." he waved his hand in the air, searching for the words, "you're ..."   
  
She shrugged, and managed to give him a faint smile. "Too young, and not your type o' lass."   
  
"Principally too young," Jack said. "And ... an' you're a shipmate. You see?"   
  
Anamaria finished off her end of the tear, and cut the thread with her knife. "I see. But all the same, it is not right that those girls should have to do that to live."   
  
"What girls?" Thornton had come over to inspect progress on the sail.   
  
"The lasses, in Tortuga and the like," Jack explained, his last stitch meeting Anamaria's.   
  
"Oh, they don't mind," Thornton laughed. "Bit o' money, bit o' warmth in their beds. Though it don't surprise me you're not pleased, young Anamaria - wouldn't expect to see you here if you thought well of 'em."   
  
"It's not them she thinks badly of," said Jack, standing up. "It's us, for using their service."   
  
"Well!" Thornton said. "Let's get this sail aloft, shall we?"   
  
With the wind once again filling all the sails, and the repair to the foresail holding up well, Flint ordered a course set for one of the islands visible on the horizon. The sky was cloudless, a bright, insistent blue, and the water foamed under the _Black Pearl_'s keel. With all his tasks carried out, Jack was free for a while, and he went to sit astride the bowsprit. The breeze caught his braids and flapped them about his face, and spray dried salty on his skin. An observer would have seen a smile of pure contentment playing across his lips.   
  
He was enjoying watching a shoal of flying fish leap about around the _Pearl_'s bow when a shout came from far above him. Anamaria's voice, carrying high over the waves.   
  
"Ship ahoy!"  
  
Jack shimmied back down the bowsprit and landed on deck, where all the men were shading their eyes outwards or upwards. Captain Flint's telescope was out, and directed across the port bow.   
  
"Pirate ship!" Anamaria added, calling the news down. "Jolly Roger flying."  
  
"Friendly or hostile?" Carpenter wondered, out loud.  
  
Flint turned to his crew, snapping the telescope shut. "All right, you knaves - all hands prepare to take off some canvas. Main and fore tops. Jump to it!"  
  
They jumped. Soon the topsails were furled tidily, and the jib stowed too, and the ship was moving a little slower in the water. It was now clear that the other pirate vessel, a neat little brig painted dark brown, was heading towards them. Just in case, Flint ordered some of the men to man the cannon, and the rest of his crew to arm themselves. They waited.  
  
Within an hour the brig was close enough to see that her crew was small, only ten men compared to the _Black Pearl_'s complement of twenty or so, and that she was named the _Susanna_.  
  
"Had a sweetheart called Susie once," Carpenter said, thoughtfully.  
  
"What happened to her?" Jack asked, glancing at Elias.  
  
"She married someone else. Probably just as well."  
  
"Just as well for what?" Jack said, but his question was never answered.  
  
"_Black Pearl_ ahoy!" came a shout from the _Susanna_. "Heave to aside us?"  
  
"If you mean no harm, aye!" Flint yelled back. He turned to O'Connell, and nodded. The Irishman relayed the order.  
  
"Heave to!"  
  
The ship swung round, Thornton at the helm and the men hauling on the sheets, and came to a standstill. The _Susanna_, maybe ten yards distant, did the same, and the two vessels stood alongside each other, within easy calling distance.  
  
A man who was clearly the captain of the _Susanna_, marked out by his good green coat and a white feather in his hat, came to stand by the rail on his ship. "Cap'n Flint, isn't it?"  
  
"Aye, it is," Flint agreed. He had one hand casually resting on the hilt of his cutlass.  
  
"Cap'n McDonagall, here," the other man introduced himself, and Jack realised that he did indeed have a soft Scots accent. "May I come aboard?" Flint hesitated. "Alone?" McDonagall added.  
  
"By all means," Flint agreed. "Mr Carpenter, the gangplank?"  
  
Carpenter hurried to set the gangplank down between the two ships, and with his crew looking on, the captain of the _Susanna_ came aboard the _Black Pearl_. He held out his hand, and Flint accepted it, shaking.  
  
"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir," McDonagall said. "Heard a lot about ye."  
  
"Have you?" Captain Flint did not sound convinced. He looked down at McDonagall suspiciously.  
  
"Aye, I have. The _Black Pearl_ is famous, cap'n. Fastest ship in these parts."  
  
"Fastest ship in the Caribbean, too," Thornton said under his breath. Flint shot him a sharp look.  
  
"You didn't come aboard to talk about the speed o' me ship," he said. McDonagall shrugged, the feather in his hat bobbing.  
  
"No, that's right, I did'nae. See, I came to warn ye, cap'n. We ran into a ship of the East India Company as we sailed east."  
  
There was silence. The pirates of the _Pearl_ glanced at each other, and then turned to look at Jack.  
  
"Barely escaped, we did."  
  
"Your ship's looking remarkably well if you barely escaped," Flint observed, casting a shrewd eye over the _Susanna _. Her paint gleamed and her sails seemed new. McDonagall shifted his feet.  
  
"Careened her in Malacca. Gave her an overhaul. Sweet thing, you'll agree."  
  
"Very," Flint said. "Go on, Captain McDonagall."  
  
"So, we escaped barely," the Scotsman went on. "But before we'd gone, they said they were hunting a ship, and a man who'd escaped them but had been seen in the area."  
  
The men's eyes shifted to Jack again. Jack folded his arms and waited for McDonagall to finish his tale.  
  
"Said he was a young thing, tricky, with funny affectations," the captain said. "Beads and what-not. I told 'em that we had nobody by that name aboard the _Susie_, but they would'na listen, and so we ran."  
  
"And this pirate they were looking for?" Flint asked.  
  
"Odd name. Like a bird, or somethin'. Nightingale, may have been it."  
  
Now everyone turned to stare at Jack, who gestured at himself. "Me? Why're you all looking at me?"  
  
"Been seen in the area?" Flint said, softly.  
  
"There was a drunk sailor, in Malacca," Jack said. "Said he'd gone Dutch. I didn't reckon he'd remember me. Thought it were safe - savvy? Normally it's a safe rule, that a man in his cups won't recall what he saw."  
  
"Everyone remembers you, lad," Thornton pointed out.  
  
McDonagall looked with interest at Jack. "So you're the one? Nightingale?"  
  
"Sparrow," said Jack. "Jack Sparrow."  
  
"Och, lad, you can tell a fellow pirate your name!" the Scotsman exclaimed.  
  
"It's Jack Sparrow," Jack repeated.  
  
"It really is," Flint confirmed. "So, what do you want with him?"  
  
"Me? Nothing!" McDonagall said, smoothly. "I was just dropping off the warning, to a respected purveyor of our ancient trade. Cap'n."  
  
Flint looked hard at McDonagall for a few moments, and then shrugged and let go of the hilt of his sword. "Gains good in this area?"  
  
"Nae bad," the other returned.  
  
"Thank you for the warning," Flint said. "We'll keep an eye out. But the _Black Pearl_ can outrun anything we want to."  
  
The Scotsman nodded. "So I have heard." He held out his hand, and the two captains shook quickly. McDonagall turned, and came across to Jack, looking him up and down. "Well, Mr Sparrow, you're a unique one and no mistake. Is it all show?"  
  
"No, cap'n, it isn't," Jack said. "Else the good folk of the East India Company wouldn't be looking for me, would they?"  
  
McDonagall frowned. "They really want you, too. I'd not be in your boots, lad."  
  
"Good thing you're not, then, cap'n," Jack replied, coolly.  
  
The Scotsman laughed, and extended his hand. "Well, good luck to ye, Mr Sparrow."  
  
Jack grasped the hand, and let go. McDonagall nodded, and walked quickly back down the gangplank to his own ship.  
  
They watched the _Susanna_ turn into the wind and head off, picking up speed as she went, in the direction of Malacca. Flint, his face impassive, turned to his crew.  
  
"All hands to the canvas! Back on to our previous course, Mr Thornton!" Jack hesitated, casting one last look at the other vessel. "That means you too, Sparrow!" Flint shouted, and Jack sketched his captain a quick bow before hurrying up to the mainmast, and to work. 


	16. Chapter 16

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_  
  
----  
  
"Ah, Jack - sit down, will you?"  
  
Jack closed the door behind him and came into Flint's cabin, looking around him with interest. He had never had a chance to come right in before now, not being on galley duty. The cabin was the breadth of the ship, set in the stern with small windows that could be opened, and was furnished with a table and chairs in addition to the captain's bunk at one side, hidden by a curtain.  
  
Captain Flint was seated at the table, a pile of papers and a box full of coins in front of him, but he put down his quill as Jack chose a chair and settled down.  
  
"Cup of wine, Jack?"  
  
"Thank you," Jack accepted.  
  
The captain poured some red wine into two silver goblets and passed Jack one of them. "From that merchant we caught on the way east," he explained, noticing Jack's curious look at the fine metalwork.  
  
"Not bad," Jack said. "Cheers, cap'n."  
  
"Cheers." Flint drank, and then put his goblet down and looked seriously at Jack. "Know why I wanted to speak to you?"  
  
Jack steepled his fingers in front of his face, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. "I guessed it'd be the East India Company. I should've said something about that drunkard, cap'n, and I'm sorry I never did."  
  
"You're not sorry," Flint said. "I know you too well by now, Jack Sparrow, and you'll ne'er be sorry for something like that, as wasn't your fault. You did well to escape from them the first time, and I was pleased to have you back aboard. You're a useful sailor and a useful swordsman. And you've a sharper mind than some give you credit for. There be them as can't look past a man's appearance and see the person inside."  
  
"That's so," Jack agreed.  
  
"So you're right, it was them pesky idiots who reckon they rule these seas that I wished to talk to you about," Flint went on. "What should we do with them, if they find us? When your frigate was after us, you said run."  
  
Jack said nothing, and considered the options.  
  
One of the things he had learnt during his time in the custody of the East India Company was that not all their ships were well armed. Many of them, indeed, were simple merchants under charter to the Company, carrying one or two small cannon and the odd rifle. The armed ships zigzagged across the Company's trading area, looking for pirates and for other ships to take goods from. They were the tricky vessels, the one that the _Black Pearl_ needed to watch out for.  
  
But Jack remembered also that when Flint had ordered the retreat, the day he got captured several years before, the _Pearl_ had been heavily laden and low in the water.  
  
"If," he said, thoughtfully, "we came upon them when we've just unloaded cargo, we'd have the extra movement to outwit them. And if we fired first. Last time, they got off the first shots. There's only the officers who can use a blade - the rest fumble their footwork." He grinned. "Anyway, if we come across that Tapley I'd like to settle matters."  
  
"And the frigate?"  
  
"If she's still around these parts," Jack said, "then we need to be cautious, cap'n, but not cowards."  
  
"Cautious but not cowards," Flint nodded. "So be it. Go and pass the message on to Thornton and O'Connell, would you? Ask 'em to order the cannon cleaned."  
  
Jack jumped up, and nodded. "Aye, aye, sir!"  
  
Flint smiled. "One day, Jack Sparrow, you'll make a bloody good captain. Never thought I'd find someone who loved the old _Pearl_ more'n me, but I reckon you do."  
  
Jack gave the captain one of his little bows, and left the cabin.  
  
The cannon were duly cleaned, and lookouts set permanently. In quiet moments, the crew practised their swordfighting. Jack began to teach Anamaria some basic skills, and she picked them up reasonably quickly. She had the advantage of being light on her feet, and agile, but she lacked power. He tried to ease back on his own attacks to help her, and she improved rapidly.  
  
"Only for emergencies," Jack warned her, nonetheless. She nodded, and parried an unseen opponent.  
  
For a week they saw no sign of the Company. They caught a couple of local merchants, taking spices from one island to another, and relieved them of some of their goods and supplies, but there was a distinct lack of any European vessels.  
  
Jack was on lookout duty when the sails appeared on the horizon. "Ship ahoy!" he called down, and shaded his eyes to see better. "East Indiaman!" he added, as the Company standard streamed out behind the other vessel. And then his eyes creased, and he swore softly to himself. "Why, the little ..."  
  
"What is it, Jack?" Flint asked, as Jack landed on the deck and came hurrying across to him.  
  
"It's the _Susanna_, that's what it is," Jack said. "Carrying an East India Company flag. In Dutch Company waters, too."  
  
Flint had his telescope out in a trice and was on the rail, grasping a shroud with one hand to steady himself as he looked through the instrument. "I believe you're right, Jack."  
  
"Knew there was summat fishy with that Scotsman," Thornton said, from the helm. "Right dodgy, he was."  
  
"Evidently," said Flint, snapping the telescope shut. "All right, men. This is what we do. Give 'em no quarter - we fire first, we board first. We're the bigger ship and the faster, and the better armed. Cripple her. Shot from each cannon broadsides as she approaches. Heave to alongside, grapple and board. Go for the officers - Jack says the sailors won't put up much of a fight. That wretch McDonagall's mine, and if you find a Tapley, he's young Jack's. Clear?"  
  
"Aye, cap'n," the crew chorused.  
  
"Right. To your places, gentlemen."  
  
The cannon were loaded, and the pirates armed. The _Susanna_ closed as Thornton held the _Pearl_ out of the wind, her sails hanging limp. With a grappling iron in one hand, and his sword hanging by his side, Jack waited, tense with anticipation.  
  
There was a hail from the approaching vessel. "Ahoy there, _Black Pearl_! Surrender your arms and the fugitive Sparrow, and we'll let you go free."  
  
Flint smiled, and nodded at O'Connell, who nodded back.  
  
"Fire!" he called, and the cannon fired with a series of booms. The _Susanna_ shook, and swung off her course. When the smoke cleared, there was a gaping hole in her port hull.  
  
"Board her!" Flint shouted.  
  
Jack swung his grappling iron and let go, watching the hooks sail over the water separating the two ships and catch on the wooden rail. He seized a shroud, leaping up on the rail of the _Pearl_ and pushing off, swinging through the air with the blue water below him.  
  
He landed in a neat somersault and drew his sword. The other pirates were already attacking a group of officers, but Jack could not see his quarry amongst them, and so he turned his attention to a panic-stricken sailor close by. The sailor fought bravely, but clumsily, and it took only moments for Jack to disarm him with a flick of his wrist. He caught the other man's sword and waved it in his face.  
  
"Thanks. Now, I'm looking for a man named Tapley. You know him?"  
  
The sailor gulped, visibly, and shook his head. Jack crossed the swords in the air, making a very satisfactory swishing noise, and smiled. "No, that's the wrong answer, savvy? He's on this ship, isn't he? Be a good lad, show me where he is, and I might not kill you." He did his best evil leer, and the sailor quaked.  
  
"He's below."  
  
"Better. Take me there?"  
  
The sailor nodded, and led Jack away from the fighting that was still going on elsewhere, down to the lower decks of the brig. He gestured at a cabin door.  
  
"That one."  
  
"Thank you!" Jack said, and patted him on the shoulder. "Good man." He turned his attention to the door, which seemed to be locked, and considered it a moment.  
  
The sailor scurried off. Jack sheathed his own sword and took the stolen blade in his right hand; stepped back and then landed as heavy a kick as he could manage on the door. It swung open, to reveal Mr Tapley pointing a pistol at Jack's head.  
  
"So," he said, perfectly calm.  
  
Jack waved the sword in front of Tapley's face. "Nice to meet you again. You going to waste a shot on me?"  
  
Tapley's aim held steady. "No, Sparrow, I am not. You are going to be reasonable, lay down that weapon, and surrender to me."  
  
Jack stepped to one side of the man and then the other. "Your ship's under attack, mate. Got a bleedin' great hole in her side. She's scuppered. If you reckoned the _Pearl_ would run away a second time, or surrender one of her own, you reckoned wrong."  
  
"You broke your word, Sparrow - if indeed McDonagall reported aright and that _is_ your name."  
  
"Why do you people not believe me?" Jack said, shaking his head. "I give you a fake name and you take it, happy as a pirate in a gold chest, but when I tell you my real name, you think I'm lying?"  
  
"As I said, you broke your word," Tapley said. "You escaped."  
  
"I'm a pirate, you great idiot!" Jack returned. "I was stretching the truth when I said I was honest." He darted the tip of his sword closer to Tapley's face, and the man blinked. "So shoot me, Mr Tapley, and rid the world of my black-hearted self."  
  
Tapley's finger tightened on the trigger, and Jack brought his sword down on his arm even as the Englishman fired. The shot hammered into the floorboards, inches from Jack's feet, but now he had the upper hand. Jack twisted the sword in his hand and used the hilt to hit Tapley, hard, in the stomach. He went down, groaning, and Jack finished off his work with a good solid blow to the back of Tapley's neck. He was out cold.  
  
Twenty minutes later the _Black Pearl_ was sailing away from the scene. Three longboats from the _Susanna_ were bobbing in the water, as she listed badly to starboard. Already waves were lapping at the rail. Her sailors were safe in the smaller boats, together with dishevelled and disarmed officers; the brig's cargo and supplies were stowed aboard the _Black Pearl_.  
  
Below decks, McDonagall and Tapley had been locked into the _Pearl_'s two brigs. At some point, McDonagall had lost his hat, and was seated in the corner of his cage, sulking. Tapley was leaning against the wooden side of his, looking down at his feet in distaste.  
  
"Terribly sorry," said Jack, as he came down the steps into the hold, "there appears to be leak. Old ship like this one, springs them sometimes."  
  
"I demand you let us go!" Tapley said.  
  
Jack shook his head. "Can't do, Mr Tapley, sorry. Cap'n's orders. Though he did say something about me being able to deal with you as I wanted."  
  
Tapley made a noise that sounded remarkably like a hiss. "And that's supposed to frighten me, boy? Why, you couldn't even kill me. Resorted to trickery to capture me. Pathetic."  
  
Approaching the brig, Jack leaned in. "You think I wouldn't kill you?"  
  
"I think you couldn't kill me," Tapley retorted. "You don't have it in you."  
  
"I have it in me," Jack said, unsmiling. "Don't push me, Mr Tapley."  
  
Tapley laughed. "Impertinent boy. Idiotic boy. As if you could end my life ..."  
  
He was forced to take a quick step back, as Jack's sword flashed through the bars of the brig.  
  
"I don't want to," he said, quietly. "I don't like killing a man, but that doesn't mean I won't if I need to. But we won't hang you, Mr Tapley, or brand you as a pompous, useless landlubber - we be pirates, and you'll receive pirate justice." He sheathed his sword. "I hope you can swim."  
  
The clouds were looming overhead the next morning, when the _Black Pearl_ anchored within sight of an uninhabited island, and the pirates gathered. The captives were brought on deck, their hands manacled in front of them. Both men looked rather bedraggled and tired, and nervous as they stood in front of Captain Flint.  
  
"You came to attack my ship and take one of my men captive," Flint began, looking hard at the two of them. "You, McDonagall, masqueraded as a pirate and came aboard this vessel in good faith. You, Tapley, would have sentenced a young man to death. I find you guilty of these crimes and condemn you to walk the plank off this ship." He glanced round at his crew. "Do you witness this, gentlemen?"  
  
"Aye, sir," they said, a rumbling condemnation.  
  
"Does anyone wish to add anything?" Flint asked.  
  
"Not add anything, cap'n, but subtract something," Jack said, stepping forward. He came up to Tapley and deftly slid the Englishman's three heavy silver rings from his fingers. "I'll take these, Mr Tapley, in payment of your debt for my imprisonment. Taught me a lot, but I'd not repeat it. Have a good swim." He put the rings on his own fingers, examined them for a second with pleasure, and putting his hands together inclined his head in a salute to the East Indiaman.  
  
Tapley snarled: "You'll rot in hell one of these days, Sparrow!"  
  
"Probably," Jack agreed, mildly. "But not yet. I'll see you there, shall I?"  
  
"Finished?" Flint said. Jack nodded, and stepped back to join the crew, where Anamaria gave his arm a reassuring pat.  
  
McDonagall was pushed on to the plank, and O'Connell took off his shackles. The Scotsman was visibly shaking as he stood there.  
  
"Oh, get on wi' ye!" O'Connell said. "Water's nice and warm." McDonagall turned, and moved to the end of the plank, jutting out over the water, but did not jump. The mate gave a sigh and stepped on the other end, and with a shriek McDonagall fell with a splash. He did not come up.  
  
Tapley followed the Scotsman on to the plank and held out his hands for the manacles to be undone. O'Connell unlocked them, and Tapley turned and deliberately walked off the end of the plank, his eyes shut tightly. After a moment, his head surfaced, arms flailing.  
  
Flint turned away from the rail.  
  
"Bring the plank on board," he said, his voice flat. "Prepare to make way."  
  
Jack moved to climb up the mainmast, but he cast a last look out over the water, where some splashing showed that Tapley was still fighting. He sighed, and took hold of the shrouds. 


	17. Chapter 17

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** Zwarte Perel asked for an update on the chronology of the piece. So: it's now 1663, Jack is 19 going on 20, and Anamaria thinks she's about 14. Back in England, Elsie Turner's just discovered she's pregnant, and the local midwife is making predictions that it's a boy. Hope that helps!_  
  
----  
  
It was a clear, hot day when the _Black Pearl_ limped into Tortuga harbour. The voyage across the Atlantic had been long and arduous, the ship wracked by storms. She had come the last few hundred miles under very little canvas, after several sails had been ripped to shreds in the wind. It was with a sigh of devout relief that Captain Flint ordered the anchor to be lowered in the shelter of the bay.  
  
"Home again!" said Anamaria, gladly, as she secured a shroud with an efficient knot.  
  
"Land!" said Carpenter, by her side.  
  
Jack stuck his fingers in his sash. "Only Tortuga."  
  
"Someone should have been born a fish," Anamaria observed.  
  
"Going to have to get used to land, lad," Thornton said, crossing to them. "Captain wants her hauled out for repairs."  
  
"What?" Jack stared. "Take the _Pearl_ out of the water?"  
  
"Come now, you've been a sailor long enough to know what 'hauled out' means," Thornton remonstrated.  
  
"I know what it _means_," Jack said. "What I don't like is how it _sounds_. How long?"  
  
"Got to talk to a shipwright, negotiate a price," Thornton said. "Could be a few weeks. Could be a few months."  
  
Jack looked aghast, his kohl-rimmed eyes even larger than usual. "Months?! But what do we do?"  
  
"Have a rest?" Carpenter suggested. "Bit o' time ashore, use some of that tidy profit we've made?"  
  
"Ashore?!" Jack threw his hands up in the air. "Ashore's for a few nights, here 'n' there. Not for months!"  
  
The others exchanged glances, and Anamaria folded her arms and faced her friend.  
  
"Jack, don't be ridiculous. You cannot spend the rest of your life afloat."  
  
"Why not?" Jack returned her stare, hands now resting on his hips. "Why not, Ana? Apart from the odd foray ashore for food, and ..." he caught her look, and changed what he was going to say, "and to trade, I would be blissfully happy if I never saw a single piece of land. Where's there's land, there's people, and where there's people, there's trouble - savvy? Mark me words."  
  
"Consider them marked," Thornton said. "But it won't be for a day or so, lad. You'll have a few nights aboard afore then."  
  
Sure enough, when the ship was settled and the captain was satisfied with her cleanliness and tidiness, he called his crew together and gave them the news. It was met with resigned sighs from the men.  
  
"I'll pay you all," Flint said. "We've had a good run, recent, and there's enough for all o' ye to do what you wish wi' the time here. I won't stop you joining another vessel. I know some o' you want to go home. I heard that the _Lady Margaret_ and the _Sea Breeze_ are leaving Tortuga afore the sennight is out. The _Margaret_'s sailing for London town, the _Sea Breeze_ for Dublin after Bilbao. Good ships. Take passage, if you will. There are other ships here staying in the West Indies. I'll know by tomorrow night how long the _Pearl_'ll be hauled out, should you wish to rejoin her. I'd be glad to have any of ye. Thank you, gentlemen."  
  
The pirates dispersed, some of them going to Flint's cabin to collect their winnings before heading ashore in the boats.  
  
Jack leant on the rail, morosely looking out to sea. Anamaria, her pocket jingling with coins, came up to him. "Jack."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'm going ashore. Do you not want something to eat?"  
  
"Not hungry, love." His gaze returned to the open horizon, now lit by a rosy sunset that cast bands of light on the water.  
  
Anamaria frowned to herself, and shrugged. "Your loss. Goodnight, then."  
  
"'Night," Jack said, absently. She frowned again, and hurried off to climb into the boat that was just leaving.  
  
The splash of the oars faded, and Jack was left with the lap of the water against the ship's hull, and the call of seabirds high above as they went to their night's rest. With the sun gone, the air was chilly, and he hurried below decks to fetch his blanket. On the way back up he came across Captain Flint, carrying a cup of water from the galley to his cabin.  
  
"Not gone ashore, Jack?"  
  
"No sir," Jack said.  
  
"Thought you'd want to, after that crossing."  
  
"Oh," said Jack, pulling the blanket around his shoulders, "I'm glad we're out of that weather. Nasty weather. No sailor in his right mind'd like such a storm. But why would any sailor wish to be tied down to land, if he could be out free with the wind under his sails?"  
  
Flint gave Jack a hard, appraising look, and then laughed freely. "You ought to have been a poet, lad." He sipped his water, grimaced, and added, "Not that I won't be glad for fresh water." He turned to go, and paused. "Are you sleeping aboard tonight?"  
  
"Aye, cap'n, if you don't mind."  
  
"No, I don't mind." Flint smiled at him. "I'll be in my cabin, if there's a problem."  
  
Jack nodded, and the captain went off down the corridor.  
  
Back on deck, Jack shimmied out to the end of the bowsprit and sat there, as the stars and the moon came out and the lights in the town flickered into life.  
  
The next morning, after a night out in the cool air with the stars above him, he felt a little more philosophical about the whole matter of the _Pearl_ being out of the water. He resolved to go and collect his earnings from Captain Flint, spend some of them, and then find himself a ship that would take him until his beloved _Black Pearl_ was back afloat.  
  
Accordingly, once he had returned his blanket to his hammock and jammed his hat on his sleep-tousled head, he tapped on the captain's door.  
  
"Come to fetch your money?" Flint asked, opening it.  
  
"Aye, sir," Jack said. "I'm going to find another vessel."  
  
Leaving the door open, Flint turned back to the table in the centre of the cabin, and began to count coins out of a chest. "Sensible lad. I'll put in a word for you round about. But you'll come back to the _Pearl_ when she's ready for you?"  
  
Jack took his winnings, and stowed them away carefully. There was a sizeable handful of coins, enough to last him for a good long time.  
  
"If she'll have me, captain."  
  
"She'll have you. Good luck, Mr Sparrow."  
  
Bowing gravely, Jack said: "Thank you, cap'n."  
  
Captain Flint returned the bow with an inclination of his head and a smile. "Off you go, Jack. Swag to spend and ships to find."  
  
Jack patted his pocket, heard a reassuring jingle, and nodded. "Certainly."  
  
He turned, and strolled off, the coins accompanying him with cheerful music.  
  
There were no boats left to row ashore in, so Jack leant over the rail of the ship and hailed the first one he saw crossing the harbour. The occupant seemed quite happy to ferry him to land in return for a gold doubloon, and Jack soon found himself rolling into Tortuga. He always found it especially tricky to walk when first on land - Bootstrap Bill had once explained it to him, saying that limbs and body got used to the constant motion of the sea, and simply could not cope with the stability of dry land. Jack compensated by exaggerating the roll anyway, and now ambled contentedly along, blissfully unaware of the glances he was getting from passers-by.  
  
He paused first at a tavern, and ordered ale and a bowl of meat stew with bread. The food smelt incredible, and Jack suddenly found he was starving and wolfed it down. The bowl empty, he sat and cradled his ale for a while, enjoying the feeling of being actually full, and dry, and warm; for a few moments he decided that perhaps being ashore was not so bad after all.  
  
Eventually he got up, paid for his meal, and strolled out into the street. It was another beautiful Caribbean day, and Tortuga was, belatedly, beginning to wake up. Sailors rubbing their heads ruefully staggered outside, girls leaned in doorways and taunted them in a good-natured sort of way, shopkeepers propped open doors and set their wares out to attract custom.  
  
Jack folded his hands behind his back and wandered along, stopping now and then to examine something in a shop, or to grin at a girl. After a bit, he found a clothes shop, and went in, fingering his money thoughtfully.  
  
The shopkeeper was nodding over his counter, but as the bell over the door jangled, he sat up and greeted Jack.  
  
"Morning."  
  
"Morning," Jack returned, feeling the material of a dark fitted coat. "How much is this?"  
  
"Oh ..." the shopkeeper emerged from behind his counter and hurried over. "A trifle, good sir, a trifle."  
  
"How much?" Jack repeated.  
  
The shopkeeper's eyes focused quickly. "How much do you want it to be?"  
  
"One pound," Jack suggested, pulling a figure from the air. It had been so long since he had actually paid for anything other than food and drink that he had no idea how much he should say.  
  
Taking the coat from the shelf, and shaking it out, the shopkeeper laughed indulgently. "You'll bankrupt me, sir. Couldn't take less than three."  
  
"One gold guinea," Jack offered, taking the coat from the other man, and holding up against himself.  
  
The shopkeeper's eyes glinted. "Gold?"  
  
"Gold," Jack agreed. He tried the coat on, turning in it and holding out his arms. It fitted beautifully, the skirt flaring in a pleasing manner as he moved. The shopkeeper smiled, ingratiatingly.  
  
"Lovely, sir."  
  
"It is, isn't it?" Jack said. He tapped his fingers against his pocket, and coins tinkled. "One gold guinea, then?"  
  
"You're robbing me!" the shopkeeper protested, weakly.  
  
"No," said Jack, "if I were robbing you, I'd have left the shop already, savvy? You've not been in Tortuga long, have you?"  
  
"Six months," the other man admitted.  
  
Jack produced a coin and flicked it through his fingers. "If you've got such a thing as a shirt that would fit me, I'll double this one. Feeling generous today, me."  
  
The shopkeeper nodded, and from another shelf produced a good linen shirt. "Anything else, sir?"  
  
"Hmmm. Gloves! Have you got any gloves?"  
  
Gloves were duly found, well-fitting leather ones, and Jack put them on and flexed his fingers before drawing his sword and trying out a few parries with the gloves on. The shopkeeper, noticeably nervous, retreated behind his counter, and looked distinctly relieved when Jack put the sword away.  
  
"Two guineas it is," Jack said, tucking the gloves in his sash and keeping the coat on. He passed the coins over, and the shopkeeper carefully bit each one before putting them away. Jack picked up his shirt, tied up with twine, and paused. "I suggest you get a little backbone, mate. Can't survive in Tortuga if you jump every time someone draws a sword. Backbone." He patted the man on the shoulder, and sauntered out, humming to himself.  
  
He was on his way back to the harbour when he heard a call from behind him, and running footsteps. He paused, and turned.  
  
"Jack!"  
  
"Hello, Anamaria," he said.  
  
"Nice coat," she approved. "Are you ... how are you?"  
  
"Same as ever," Jack said.  
  
"Where are you staying?" she asked, falling into step beside him.  
  
"Me? I'm going to join another ship, love." Anamaria's thin face looked downcast. "I couldn't stay ashore for longer than a few weeks, Ana. You know me, I'm ..."  
  
"Jack Sparrow," she finished for him. "Yes, I know. I was ... I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me."  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
"I have an aunt, in a village near here," Anamaria said. "I am going to stay with her."  
  
"Not going to find another vessel yourself?"  
  
She frowned at him, as if the reason were obvious. "Not all captains are like Captain Flint, Jack. I am a girl, I am bad luck. I would not be able to find another ship to join. I will wait, for the _Pearl_ to sail once more."  
  
"Won't be too long," Jack said, hopefully.  
  
She stopped walking. "I'll miss you, Jack."  
  
"Me too. I'll miss me too." She hit him playfully on the arm. "Ow! I don't think I deserved that."  
  
"You always deserve it.  
  
Jack tucked his new shirt under his arm and gave her a hug. "I suspect I do. See you in a bit, then, shall I?"  
  
Anamaria returned the hug, and surreptitiously wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "Have fun."  
  
He grinned.  
  
"Oh, I will, love. You know I will."  
  
She shook her head in mock exasperation, and then turned and walked away determinedly not looking back. Jack watched her go, and began slowly to make his way to the harbour, and to find himself a ship. 


	18. Chapter 18

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** continued thanks to everyone who's reviewed - those who are repeat reviewers and those who are new reviewers alike._  
  
----  
  
"This is utterly bloody ridiculous!" Jack threw down his mop in disgust, and stood hands on hips, glaring.  
  
He had succeeded in finding a pirate ship leaving Tortuga the same day that the _Black Pearl_ was hauled out of the water for repairs. The _Fiery Dragon_ was a somewhat dilapidated brigantine, a little smaller than the _Pearl_, but her captain was looking for crew and did not even ask Jack for a recommendation from Captain Flint. He promised Jack an equal share in profits, and assured him he would be able to leave the ship when the _Black Pearl_ was ready to sail once more. Accordingly Jack fetched his belongings from the _Pearl_, said goodbye to her crew - O'Connell was leaving for Dublin, several others for England - and joined his new ship.  
  
Now, less than a week later, he was regretting his hasty decision.  
  
At first, things had been all right. Getting underway, Jack had been sent to his favourite post aloft, unfurling the main topsail, and after that it had been all hands to tidying the ship. The crew were perhaps less talkative than the pirates on the _Black Pearl_, but they were not unpleasant, and Jack was happy enough. But on the second day out of Tortuga, the situation worsened. He had been set to swabbing the decks and cleaning brasswork that had not been cleaned for months; tasks he completed willingly enough. However, when those same jobs were given him for the next two days, he began to get annoyed. Now, on the fifth day, with the decks shining and the brass gleaming, he was fed up.  
  
"You missed a spot." Some of the crew, lounging on coils of rope playing cards, glanced over to Jack and his discarded mop, grinning at each other.  
  
"It can stay missed," Jack retorted. "Didn't join this ship to mop the deck."  
  
"Oooh, 'oity-toity, ain't we?" The comment came from a man with a tangled and straggly ginger beard.  
  
"Ship's gotta be kept clean," another added. " But we're not goin' to do it. It be a job for lads like you."  
  
Deliberately and carefully, Jack picked up the bucket he had been using to collect water, and emptied it over the side of the ship. He put it down in its accustomed storage space, by the mast, and put the mop in its place too.  
  
"I am not a lad," he said, turning to the other pirates.  
  
They exchanged glances.  
  
"Are ye not?" the ginger bearded one said. "What are you, then? A lass?" The men laughed. "Sure looks like it, don't it, mates?" he continued. "Them beads an' baubles."  
  
"It's darned bad luck to have a woman on board," said a stout pirate, leering unpleasantly.  
  
"Is it?" Jack said. "You reckon so? I suppose that explains why we sailed four years with a lass as cabin boy, and came back as the richest buccaneer ship in the Caribbean?"  
  
"We?" said the ginger pirate, climbing to his feet. "That'd be old Skinflint and his precious _Pearl_, would it? The ship what looked like she were about to fall apart when she got into Tortuga last week?"  
  
"At least she'd gone somewhere!" said Jack, feeling himself about to explode. Somehow he did not mind personal insults, but people badmouthing the _Black Pearl_ was a step too far. "I'm beginning to wonder if you lot really are pirates, or if you just drift about for a bit and then sail back into port. Ever attack anything?"  
  
The rest of the men got to their feet, hands clutching at knives.  
  
"You'll regret that, _boy_!" Ginger Beard snarled, drawing his own short cutlass.  
  
Jack spread his hands. "I'm unarmed, mate. Not very gentlemanly to draw on an unarmed man, now, is it?"  
  
"We're not gentlemen!" the other man said. "We're bleedin' pirates."  
  
"No honour amongst thieves these days?" Jack asked. "You want to fight, then we'll fight, but give me a chance to fetch me sword, at least."  
  
The ginger-haired pirate lowered his cutlass, and nodded. "All right, then. Go an' fetch it."  
  
"Fetch what?" The voice came from behind them, and the group turned to see the captain of the _Dragon_, arms folded, face set in irritation.  
  
"His, er, his ..." stammered the stout pirate, after a moment's pause.  
  
"My sword, cap'n," Jack said.  
  
"Your sword, Sparrow?"  
  
"It's like this, cap'n," Jack explained. "Me, I'm sick of swabbing these decks all by my onesies, savvy? Decks don't need cleaning all day, every day. See, I'm happy to take my turn. But I'm not going to work constantly with them sitting there taking their ease."  
  
"He said as how we weren't real pirates," the ginger man cut in. "How we ain't attacked anything yet. Why'd you take on this stripling, cap'n? He's no good for anything." He glared at Jack. "Except swabbing the decks."  
  
Jack shrugged. "Like I said, let me get a sword and I'll prove I'm worth more than that."  
  
The captain looked from one to the other, and nodded. "Go on, then."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Get your sword, Sparrow. It's a dull day, we'll have some sport."  
  
Grinning, Jack nodded and hurried off to find his sword.  
  
When he came back, having rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and tightened his headscarf around his head, he found the deck cleared and the pirates in a circle, leaving a space large enough to fight in. Ginger Beard had taken off his coat and was waiting, pacing the space restlessly.  
  
Jack drew his sword and threw the belt and sheath aside.  
  
"We're agreed that we're not gentlemen, then?" he said, adjusting his grip and his balance.  
  
His opponent nodded. "Agreed."  
  
"Excellent," said Jack, and attacked. The ginger pirate met his lunge with a tolerable parry, and followed that up by slashing his cutlass across, aiming for Jack's sword arm. Jack dodged and feinted, and danced backwards neatly out of the other man's way. Ginger Beard snarled, and moved in fast but without planning his attack. Easily sidestepping, Jack darted the tip of his sword in and grazed the pirate's face.  
  
The watching crew cheered at the sight of blood, but far from being daunted, the ginger pirate kept on coming.  
  
They moved round and round the circle, Jack pressing his speed and agility advantage, the other man using his weight and height. But Ginger Beard had clearly not expected his young opponent to challenge him so convincingly, and his attacks grew steadily more desperate. Jack kept his feet moving, finding his balance easily on the shifting deck, his wrist loose and fluid as the sword flitted dangerously close to the older man's body.  
  
Their audience watched keenly, applauding particularly clever moves and goading both the fighters on. There was certainly more support for Ginger Beard, but Jack heard the odd shout in his favour too. Those encouraged him. He maintained his attacks, and finally, after maybe ten minutes of hard duelling, he landed a solid sideways blow on the other man's legs. The ginger pirate stumbled, and fell. Instantly Jack had the point of his sword at his opponent's neck.  
  
"So," he said, breath coming quickly, "I'm no good for anything, is that it?"  
  
Ginger Beard let his cutlass drop from his outstretched hand. "No," he said, grudgingly, "I give in. You win."  
  
Jack stepped back, and saluted his fallen enemy with his sword. "Thank you," he said, holding out a hand to help Ginger Beard up.  
  
The older man took the offered hand, and got to his feet.  
  
"Well now," said the captain, thoughtful, "you never told me you could fight, Sparrow."  
  
"You never asked, sir," Jack returned. "I said I was looking for a ship, you said you had room."  
  
"Fair enough," the captain conceded. His expression hardened. "But ye're still the new one aboard, Sparrow, and there's no call for shirking duties."  
  
"Shirking duties!" Jack exclaimed. "I've mopped these decks till you could eat dinner off 'em, and watched others sit and gamble the day away. With respect, cap'n, I didn't join this ship to swab decks." "What did you join it for, then?" the captain demanded.  
  
Jack picked up his scabbard and slid the sword into it. "Because I'm a pirate, cap'n, and I reckoned this looked like a pirate ship. So far, doesn't look much like it. Aren't we going to attack anything? Loot something?"  
  
"That's enough, Sparrow!" the captain said. "I'll take you off swabbing duty, if that'll shut you up."  
  
"Shut me up," Jack said. "Right you are, cap'n. I'll be silent as the grave."  
  
"You'd better be," Ginger Beard put in, "or you'll be feeling the edge of me blade." He waved the cutlass, threateningly. Jack threw him a smile.  
  
The captain shot the ginger pirate a glance, and the cutlass was swiftly put away. Jack, true to his word, said nothing, but observed the moment of discipline and stored it away for future reference.  
  
The crew dispersed, given a variety of small tasks to do. Jack was sent up the mainmast on lookout duty. He sat comfortably across the topmost spar, arm hooked around the mast for stability, and savoured the solitude as the _Fiery Dragon_ glided across the ocean's surface.  
  
Down below, the captain and Ginger Beard talked, casting the occasional glance upwards at Jack on his perch. Eventually, the captain disappeared into his cabin, leaving the ginger pirate at the helm, and Jack up above, blissfully unaware of events on deck.  
  



	19. Chapter 19

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** Edward Howard was a real person, the 2nd Earl of Carlisle. He became a Whig MP in 1666 at the age of just 20. His son began the building of Castle Howard in North Yorkshire, which is the domed stately home seen in the TV drama _Brideshead Revisited_. I've no idea why I included him, I just wanted a real person!_  
  
There was shouting, and screaming, and yelling, and Jack swung through the air feeling purely alive. They had heaved to aside a new, heavily laden merchant vessel, and the captain of the _Fiery Dragon_ had ordered them to board the other ship. The merchants seemed reasonably well prepared, and a bullet whizzed past Jack's head as he landed neatly on the deck of their ship. He drew his sword and met a blade whistling down towards his head, pushing the man wielding it back.   
  
His opponent was young, even younger than Jack himself, and dressed in salt-stained velvet. He seemed wealthy, and his sword skills were impressive but mannered. Jack, his braids flying, threw himself into the fight. "You should be ashamed of yourself, sir!" his opponent panted, between thrusts. "Piracy is a despicable occupation."  
  
"So despise me, mate," Jack returned, dodging a neat uppercut. "I'm sure I'm despicable." Their blades clashed. The young man stepped back and tripped over a pile of rope, and he went down, dropping his sword as he did so. Jack bent and retrieved it. "Nice sword."  
  
"A gift from my father," the young man said, his tone bitter.  
  
"Well off, is he?" Jack asked, examining the sword. It had a good leather grip and gold set into the pommel, and it balanced perfectly.  
  
"He's the Earl of Carlisle," his opponent said, haughtily. "I am Lord Edward Howard."  
  
Jack whistled. "Don't think I've ever robbed a lord before."  
  
"I have never been robbed by a pirate before," Edward Howard said, rather miserably. He pulled out a leather bag full of money, and threw it to Jack. "All I have, I am afraid. My father was loath to send me away with much, for fear something like this would happen."  
  
"Now that," said Jack, pocketing the bag, "is a sensible plan that more people should follow. Lucky for us they don't, eh?"  
  
Lord Howard managed a weak smile, and sat up, rubbing his elbow. "Aye, indeed it is. And for me. What happens now?"  
  
Jack tucked the stolen sword in his sash, and stepped back. "Nothing, y'r lordship. I've got your cash, that's all I want - savvy? You go back home to your dad and tell him pirates aren't so bad as they're made out to be." He bowed politely, and turned to find someone else to steal from. Lord Howard sat where he had fallen, confusion written all over his face.  
  
The crew of the _Dragon_ ransacked the merchant ship, hauling up crates and barrels and sacks from the hold and passing them over the gap between the two vessels. Half of them stayed guarding the merchant sailors, who had been subdued and rounded up. Jack was in the group of guards, his sword in his hand but resting on the ground, humming a shanty to himself under his breath. The last few barrels were being transferred to the _Fiery Dragon_, and some of the pirates were looking hopeful at the thought of a ration of rum with supper, when the captain of the merchant ship moved. He launched himself straight at his nearest guard, who happened to be Jack.  
  
Jack dropped his sword and caught the man's arms. "None o' that," he said.  
  
The captain opened his mouth to speak, but instead he gasped and his eyes widened. Looking down, Jack saw the end of a sword protruding from the captain's stomach.  
  
"Bloody hell!" he swore. "There was no call for that!"  
  
"You'd have let him escape, would you?" someone said.  
  
"No. No!" Jack nodded at the body, which he was still holding. "Someone take the sword out of this poor wretch, won't you?"  
  
The sword's owner, a heavily built Welshman, pulled the weapon out of the captain's body, and Jack let it fall to the deck.  
  
They had no more trouble from the merchants, but Jack seemed to keep catching Lord Howard's eye, and he felt dreadful. In nine years of sailing with Captain Flint aboard the _Black Pearl_, nobody had ever been killed in cold blood. There had been deaths, on both the pirates' side and that of the ships they were raiding, but such deaths occurred in combat, a two-sided conflict. This - Jack knew he could have restrained the merchant captain, especially with a little help from his crewmates, and the death had been entirely unnecessary.  
  
Shortly, the pirates were called back aboard their ship. Jack lingered as long as possible, and before crossing the plank he pulled Lord Howard's beautiful sword out of his belt and threw it back to its owner.  
  
"I'm sorry, mate," he said, and hurried back to his ship.  
  
They sailed away, leaving the merchants drifting. Watching them from the top of the mainmast as the sails were set, Jack muttered: "Poor blighters," to himself. His neighbour glanced at him.  
  
"Poorer than you reckon," he said. "They'll be drifting there until someone picks 'em up. Cap'n cut the rudder chain, and anyway we only left 'em with some maggoty bread. Good, innit?"  
  
"Great." Jack grinned, cheerfully, but inside he found himself feeling a little sick.  
  
The next day was calm, and the captain set his crew to counting their gains from the raid. The hold was full to bursting with the loot, which proved to be a good selection of goods from England - some light furniture, fabric, weapons, coins, and other valuable items. Evidently the merchants had been on their way to Port Royal or another of the main colonial towns, their journey nearly over, when the _Dragon_ attacked. Jack, despite himself, was impressed with the haul, and had his eye on a set of pistols. But it seemed than the pirates were not to get their share of the profits straight away, for once the money had been counted and the goods catalogued (in slow, painstaking writing by the captain himself) everything was stowed away again. Longing to ask about payment, Jack instead bit his tongue and said nothing.  
  
The calm lasted all that day, and after the evening meal, supplemented by some of the rum from the merchants, some of the crew settled down to yet another game of cards. Jack declined to join in, but sat nearby and watched the game. There were the usual ribald jokes and caustic comments as the cards passed from hand to hand. A bottle of rum went round too, growing steadily emptier. Jack leant on his elbow and watched, and soon became aware that his enemy Ginger Beard was quite openly cheating. Some of the other pirates obviously noticed too, but instead of calling him on it, merely continued playing.  
  
Jack watched for a little longer, and then, shaking his head, got up and slipped out of the galley, to sit on deck and wonder what his friends from the _Black Pearl_ were doing. He was afloat, but he was not happy. It was a strange situation, and he found himself wishing that he had taken Anamaria up on her offer to stay with her aunt. He found himself missing the cheerful camaraderie of the _Pearl_, and Captain Flint's firm but fair command, as much as he missed the faded black sails of his ship. Indeed, Jack Sparrow was lonely. As he stood up to go down to his hammock and try to sleep, he resolved to leave the _Fiery Dragon_ as soon as possible.  
  
He was woken early the next morning, by someone shaking his shoulder.  
  
"Sparrow."  
  
"Eh?" Jack opened his eyes. "Have I missed my watch?"  
  
"No more watches for you, mate," the pirate standing by his hammock said. "Cap'n wants to see you." He leered, unpleasantly. Jack frowned at him, and pushed back his blanket.  
  
"All right. Coming. Give me some space, won't you?"  
  
He dropped down to the floor, pulled on his boots and tied his headscarf around his head, and followed the other man to the captain's cabin.  
  
To his surprise, it was full. The captain was seated at the table in the centre, surrounded by some of the more senior crewmembers. They fell silent as Jack was ushered in.  
  
On the table was one of the bags of coins lifted from the merchant ship, the drawstring neck open; and the catalogue the captain had made of the swag. Jack took the scene in quickly, noting that Ginger Beard was at the captain's right hand.  
  
"Sparrow," the captain said, his tone serious.  
  
"Cap'n," Jack returned.  
  
"Sparrow, some money's gone missing. How much was it, again, Mr Burns?"  
  
The ginger-haired pirate said: "Ten guineas and thirty silver shillins, cap'n."  
  
"Have you seen those ten guineas and thirty shillings, Sparrow?" the captain asked.  
  
"Me?" Jack asked, genuinely bemused. "Aren't they in that bag?"  
  
The crew round the captain roared with laughter.  
  
"No, Sparrow, they are not in that there bag," said the captain. "Mr Burns here tells me that he saw you going down to the hold last night. You know it's out o' bounds."  
  
"I went nowhere near the hold," Jack protested, seeing now that he had been set up by Burns. "Haven't touched the bloody money."  
  
"Can anyone support you in that?" the captain asked.  
  
Jack shrugged. "I don't know, cap'n. Didn't see anyone else after I left the galley last night. Maybe it were someone else down in the hold, and Mr Burns here mistook him for me."  
  
The pirates all looked at Jack, at his braids and beads, and laughed again. This time, the captain laughed with them.  
  
"Mistook someone else for you?" he said. "Frankly, Sparrow, I find that impossible to believe."  
  
"I swear I was nowhere near," Jack said. "I watched the cards for a bit, went up on deck, then bedded down. I didn't take that money, sir."  
  
The captain regarded him for a moment. "Search him," he ordered.  
  
Two of the pirates came forward, and roughly began to pat Jack's clothes. One of them pulled off his headscarf, shaking it before throwing it on to the table.  
  
"What're you doing?" Jack said. "I haven't taken it. And if I had, would I be so daft as to hide it in me clothes?"  
  
"Daft?" said the captain. "Maybe. You don't seem so bright, Sparrow. Daft might be the word I'd use for you. You two ..." he glanced at two of his crew, "go and search his hammock."  
  
The pirates disappeared. Jack folded his arms. "What would I want with a paltry ten guineas, cap'n? If I return to the _Pearl_, I'll get more of them. You've got one good raid here, I'll give you that, but it's naught compared to what we've done." He leaned on the table, and met the captain's eye. "And we don't kill prisoners. I joined this ship reckoning you were pirates, not murderers. If you want to throw me off the ship, cap'n, throw me off. I'll be glad to leave you."  
  
"Will you indeed?" the captain said, his tone cold.  
  
The door opened, and the two pirates who had been told off to search Jack's hammock came back. "We found this," one of them said, throwing a small leather bag on to the table. Burns opened it, and out tumbled the missing coins, clinking against each other.  
  
Jack gaped. Burns spread the money out, and gave Jack a satisfied smile.  
  
"What have you to say for yourself?" the captain asked.  
  
"Nothing I say'll make you believe I didn't take it," Jack said. "Throw me in the brig, chuck me off the ship at the next port. You've got your guineas back." He cast a hard look at Burns. "You've got your own back for me beating you in that fight t'other day. I've had enough, cap'n."  
  
"By rights I should maroon you."  
  
"Keel haul him," Burns put in.  
  
The captain frowned, his brow creasing. "Not for mere theft, Mr Burns, and not when the cash has been found. This lad wants to leave us. He shall leave us, next landfall we make. Wherever we make it." Jack put his hands together, and inclined his head in thanks. "Throw him in the brig," the captain said, wearily.  
  
Jack was hauled down to the brig and locked inside it. Burns lingered outside.  
  
"You've got your revenge," Jack said. "You can leave now."  
  
"Mark my words," Burns said, his voice low. "If I ever see you again, Jack Sparrow, I'll run a sword through your cowardly guts. I won't forget this."  
  
"Me either, mate," Jack said. "Me either."  
  
Burns spat on the ground in front of him, and turned away. Jack sighed, and settled down to wait until the ship dropped anchor somewhere. His first foray away from the _Black Pearl_ had not been successful. 


	20. Chapter 20

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_  
  
----  
  
Jack stood on the wooden pier and watched as the _Fiery Dragon_ receded into the distance. He was clutching his sword belt, wrapped around his battered scabbard; his hat was on his head and he had his coat and boots. So all in all, he considered he was doing all right. He had no money, though, and the only valuable items were the bits of silver in his hair, and his sword.  
  
He turned, and walked slowly off the pier and on to the hard ground of the island. Around him he could hear mainly French, of varying degrees of fluency, and the harbour was full of French naval vessels and respectable merchant ships. There was not a buccaneer in sight.  
  
The captain had stayed true to his word, and Jack had been put ashore the first landfall they made - the island of Martinique, colonised by the French. He had had all his belongings taken away, except for his sword. Someone had passed that up to him as he stood on the pier, the longboat turning to row back to the _Dragon_. So now here he was, alone, weeks away from Tortuga. He remembered a little French and a little Creole, the former learnt from Joffo and the latter from Anamaria, but not nearly enough to get by. Things did not look good.  
  
He paused and strapped his sword on, feeling the comforting and familiar weight at his waist. With it tapping against his thigh, he wandered on, listening to the conversation around him and picking out what he could.  
  
Passing a bakery with appetising smells drifting out made Jack realise how hungry he was. He had had only meagre rations of water and bread while he was in the brig, and now his stomach grumbled for something more appetising. But what to buy it with?  
  
He felt the trinkets in his hair; mostly worthless beads, pretty enough but not much use for bartering. But there were a few pieces of silver, and he pulled a braid or two before his eyes to examine them. Jack was reluctant to get rid of his decorations - they had become a part of him, as much as his arms and legs.  
  
Accordingly, he kept on going past the bakery, not without a regretful sniff of the fragrant wafts of warm air. If he was not going to barter anything for food, then he would have to resort to piracy, and steal it. He flexed his fingers thoughtfully.  
  
Sure enough, a little further on and around a corner was a small market. More bread, and a variety of fruit and vegetables, were displayed on a number of stalls. People thronged around, baskets on their heads or in their hands, buying. Jack pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes, and sauntered along, weaving in and out of the crowds, using his ship-born agility to stay out of everyone's way. When he was sure that those around him were too busy to pay any attention to him, he let his hand wander out, snagged a mango, and tucked it into his coat. Nobody seemed to have noticed, and he moved along to the next stall and added some bananas. Soon his coat was bulging with fruit, and a small loaf of bread, and he moved off quickly to find a quiet place to eat his gains.  
  
Jack felt much better with the food inside him, and he resolved to set his mind to finding a place to sleep for the night. In the morning, he would try and get passage on a ship back to Tortuga.  
  
Luck, however, was still not with him. In vain he asked for lodging at a number of taverns, but without money nobody would give him a bed. Jack turned on the full force of his charm and tried cajoling the innkeepers' wives, but they merely laughed and closed the door on him. Eventually, he sat down in the doorway of a shop, tipped his hat down over his eyes, and settled down to sleep.  
  
He dreamed, that night, of the _Black Pearl_. She was newly fitted out, her sails charcoal against a blue sky, her bow cutting cleanly through smooth water. All her crew were aboard, even those who were dead or gone. Jack himself was at the helm, hands caressing the wheel, with Bootstrap Bill at his side. The crew were applauding him for something, and he shot them back a smile, and carried on steering. A compass hung down at his side, and he lifted it and looked at it. It did not seem to point north, and Jack turned to Bootstrap, meaning to ask why, wanting to find out where they were going. Bootstrap grinned at him, showing a mouthful of blackened teeth, and then drew his sword and ran it through Jack's body.  
  
Jack woke, gasping. His neck was cricked from sleeping in a sitting position, and he slowly got to his feet and looked down at his stomach. There was no blood, no ripped shirt - indeed, he seemed to be in one piece, even if it was one rather stiff and cold piece. He took off his hat and rubbed his brow, and stretched.  
  
It was not yet morning, but Jack knew he would not be able to get to sleep again. He buckled on his sword belt and adjusted his coat, and set off towards the harbour.  
  
The town was quiet now, with few people about. The temperature was balmy, and on the horizon Jack could see the first orange stirrings of dawn. He stuck his hands in his sash and yawned, taking a seat on a handy coil of rope and listening to the tap of rope against the masts of the ships at harbour, the creaking of wood, the slap of wavelets against hulls.  
  
As the sun came up, Jack saw that a ship was creeping into the bay from the open sea outside, all her canvas aloft to catch what little wind there was. He watched as the sails were lowered and the ship slipped closer to shore. She came to a halt, there was a splash as her anchor was lowered, and after some time two longboats were lowered and the sweeps cut in and out of the water.  
  
The boats came up to the pier Jack was sitting on, and the coxswain in the first called out to him. "Can you make us fast?"  
  
Jack stood up, and caught the line thrown to him, bending and making it fast in a neat clove hitch around the mooring post.  
  
"Thank you," the coxswain nodded. Jack touched his hat and moved back to allow the occupants of the boat to disembark. The rowers were sailors, clad in a dark blue uniform, but there were passengers as well, looking dishevelled and tired. They climbed out of the longboat on to the pier, passing Jack as he stood to one side.  
  
The third passenger to go past looked up at Jack, and paused. "You?" he said.  
  
"Me?" Jack returned. He examined the other man. "Oh, you!" he exclaimed.  
  
Lord Edward Howard, his velvet coat torn and stained, drew his sword. "Where are the rest of your crew, pirate?"  
  
Jack took a step back, feeling the edge of the pier under his heels, and held his hands up. "Dunno, mate. They sailed off and left me here, and frankly I was glad to see the back of 'em."  
  
"They left you here?" Lord Howard's voice was disbelieving.  
  
The coxswain of the longboat had landed now too, and had come up to Jack and the young lord. "You know this man, your lordship?"  
  
"He was one of the pirates that attacked our ship," Lord Howard said, the point of his sword resting against Jack's throat.  
  
"I'm not denying that," Jack said. "But I had nothing to do with the rest of it, savvy? If I'd known they were stripping you of supplies and disabling your ship, I'd have said something. It's against the Code, that."  
  
"Against the Code?" Edward Howard asked.  
  
"Pirates' Code, y'r lordship," explained Jack. "Attacking's fine. You take what you can. But spitting men in cold blood, that's not done. Leaving men adrift, that's not done either."  
  
"Which does not explain why you were amongst the pirates who did just that to my ship!" the young lord said. "If these good men had not come along and taken us aboard, we would have died out there. Where is the rest of your crew, man?"  
  
"Name's Jack Sparrow," said Jack. "Like I said, they dumped me here, no money, no food, no nothing. We had a disagreement."  
  
"Jack ... Sparrow?" Lord Howard asked.  
  
"At your service, y'r lordship," Jack said. "How about we move this conversation to somewhere more comfortable?"  
  
The coxswain turned from tying up the second longboat alongside the first. "Pirate though this man is, your lordship, he has a point. We cannot stand here all day, and my men were promised some vittles."  
  
Lord Howard lowered the sword. "Very well. Lead the way, Mr Liddell."  
  
They made their way to a tavern, the sailors casting sideways looks at Jack in their midst. Edward Howard kept his sword in his hand, his mouth set in a grim line. He was supported by others Jack recognised from the merchant ship that the _Fiery Dragon_ had attacked, a couple of them with cocked pistols.  
  
They settled down in a tavern, and breakfasts were ordered for all except Jack.  
  
"Now, Sparrow, explain yourself," Edward Howard said, swallowing a mouthful of ale.  
  
Jack explained, telling them the tale of the stolen money and how he had been set up by ginger-haired Burns. "And now I'm looking for passage back to Tortuga," he finished.  
  
"Tortuga?" Liddell, the coxswain, said.  
  
"Where my ship is," Jack said. "Not the _Dragon_. If I never see her again, I can't say as I'd mind."  
  
"With that I concur," Howard said, devoutly. "And ... and despite myself, I think I believe your tale, Mr Sparrow. You did not harm me, nor anyone else on our ship, and you could have kept my sword. You did rob me ..."  
  
"I'm a pirate, mate," Jack said. "It's what I do."  
  
"Yes." Lord Howard stood up, and slid his sword back into its scabbard at his side. He sat down again, resting his chin on his hands and looking suddenly very young. "How long have you been a pirate, Mr Sparrow?"  
  
Jack did some mental sums. "Nearly ten years," he said. "Since I was a lad."  
  
"And you like it?"  
  
"Wouldn't do anything else," Jack told him, frankly. "It's not an honest trade, but I've given up pretending I'm an honest man. There's nothing like the chase and attack, and nothing like the old _Pearl_."  
  
Howard smiled. "I envy you your freedom, Mr Sparrow. When this voyage is over, I have to return to England and follow my father into Parliament. If there was no fear of being attacked by your fellows, I would gladly sail the waters instead." He turned to Liddell. "Mr Liddell, do you think we could give Mr Sparrow his passage?"  
  
Liddell shrugged. "'Tis true we are sailing north, to Hispaniola. We could take you that far, Sparrow, if the captain agrees. You made that line fast very neatly, and if you are prepared to work your passage ..."  
  
"Absolutely," Jack said, waving his hand. "I'll work it."  
  
"Then I shall ask our captain," Liddell said.  
  
"Thank you," said Jack, inclining his head in gratitude.  
  
Edward Howard pushed his plate of half-finished breakfast towards Jack. "I find I'm not hungry - would you like this?"  
  
Jack grinned, and set to, thanking whatever gods were smiling down on him. 


	21. Chapter 21

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** and so my little fic turns 21. Wow. Never thought it was going to be this long, which just shows how these things grow. Continued thanks to reviewers, old and new - if you have been reading and enjoying, do let me know! Critical comments always appreciated._   
  
----  
  
Edward Howard lifted his sword in salute, and then tucked his left hand behind his back and stood ready, _en garde_.  
  
Jack, the ends of his sash tucked in and hair tied back with a piece of leather, raised his eyebrows at the salute and contented himself with bowing elaborately and then moving straight in for the attack. His opponent, taken aback, managed to parry and then they were off, circling each other on the gently swaying deck.  
  
"What happened to _en garde_?" Lord Howard asked, feet moving gracefully.  
  
Jack tried an uppercut. "That's all very well," _clash_, "if you're playing by the rules, but mostly you won't be fighting people who play by the rules." Their blades met. "You wait, you die."  
  
Howard drove upwards with his sword, and Jack dodged the blow. "I see. So, I suppose I am safer if I too do not play by the rules?"  
  
"Now you're getting it!" Jack said, parrying. "All this fancy politeness don't mean a thing, if it's you or him."  
  
His opponent lowered his blade, and paused, sweat beading on his brow. "My fencing tutors at school mentioned nothing of the kind. Knowing how to use a blade is of course a necessity, but one imagines using it only in a duel ..."  
  
"Between gentlemen?" Jack asked. Lord Howard nodded.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And I'm not one, that it?"  
  
Howard blushed, furiously. "Well ... I mean ..."  
  
Jack grinned, broadly. "I wouldn't want to be a gentleman, mate. All that duty, having to do what folk want you to do, having to go and sit in parliament ..." he shuddered. "No thanks." He adjusted his grip. "Knowing the rules is great, but only so's you can break them, savvy?"  
  
Edward Howard returned the smile. "That is a ridiculous phrase. But yes, I see." He wiped his brow with his sleeve. "Shall we continue?"  
  
They had been sailing for four days. It turned out that with Lord Howard's vote of confidence in Jack, the captain of the _Belladonna_ - the ship that had rescued Howard and his fellow passengers and crew of the attacked merchant vessel - was quite happy to have an avowed pirate aboard. Jack had gathered that the Earl of Carlisle was rich enough for the loss of his goods aboard the merchant vessel not to be of that great an import, and that his son, Lord Howard, had promised that the Earl would pay handsomely for his voyage home. Jack had admittedly been made to work for his passage thus far, with night watches and plenty of hard graft, but he did not mind. He had put the unpleasant _Dragon_ episode firmly behind him, and was now looking to the future.  
  
In addition, the pirate and the lord had struck up an unlikely friendship. Whilst hugely different in character, the two young men were of a similar age. They shared a love of the sword, and were fairly evenly matched, practising, as now, when Jack was not at work and when the weather was calm. Lord Howard listened avidly to Jack's tales of piracy, and Jack was more than happy enough to tell them (embellished a little, where needed).  
  
They duelled now for another fifteen minutes or so, neither really gaining the upper hand. Jack, though, was more accustomed to the Caribbean heat, and when Edward Howard paused for the third time, shirt sticking to his body, he said: "Want to stop?"  
  
"I'm perfectly ... yes." Howard pulled his shirt out of his breeches, and flapped his hand weakly in front of his face to circulate some air. "How can you not feel this heat?"  
  
Jack wiped his own forehead, and sheathed his sword, hanging the belt up out of the way before fetching a wooden pail and throwing it over the side. "Just got used to it, that's all." He brought up the pail, full now with water, with an expert tug of its rope, and threw it over Lord Howard. "That'll refresh you, y'r lordship."  
  
Howard shrieked in a very ungentleman-like fashion, and tackled Jack to the deck. They fought in a light-hearted manner for a few moments, and then lay still, gazing up at the blue sky. Jack put his hands behind his head and sighed.  
  
"This is the life."  
  
"I wonder what my father would say if I never returned home?" Edward Howard mused aloud.  
  
"Probably what mine did," Jack said. "'Huh'."  
  
"'Huh'?"  
  
"Then he tried to hit me," said Jack, rolling over and leaning on his elbow. "So I hit him back. Last I saw of him, and I don't mind if I never see him again."  
  
"I don't think my father would do that," Lord Howard said.  
  
"Sparrow!" The bo'sun's voice rang out. "Swab those decks down, if you're finished duelling with his lordship."  
  
Jack got to his feet, and called back. "Aye, sir!" He went to find a mop, and began pushing water into the scuppers. Lord Howard watched him for a while, and then wandered off, evidently to change his clothes.  
  
They made good time for the rest of their voyage to Hispaniola, where the _Belladonna_ was to put in and offload her goods. As she was then bound for Europe, Jack was to leave the ship at Santo Domingo. He would have to either find cross-land travel, to reach the crossing to Tortuga, or passage on another ship sailing around the island.  
  
The ship docked late in the afternoon, and the long process of unloading the hold began. Jack helped for a while, until Lord Howard came along and took his arm.  
  
"The captain's told me you are free to go," he said. "As you won't be able to leave until the morrow, I propose some dinner."  
  
"Got no money," Jack said. "Have you?"  
  
"A little," Howard replied.  
  
"But I thought I'd taken it all!" Jack said.  
  
Edward Howard produced a small money bag. "Did you honestly think I would give all my valuables to you, Jack?" he asked.  
  
"Well now, that's interesting," Jack said. "Should have searched you better, y'r lordship. Losing my touch." He reached out for the bag, but Howard snatched it out of his reach and dropped it in a pocket.  
  
"Not a chance, my friend! Come, take it off me another way, and agree to have a drink with me."  
  
"That sounds like a plan," Jack approved, and together they set off to find an inn. They chose an airy wooden building overlooking the harbour, busy with locals and other sailors. Settling down at a table, Howard looked around him a little helplessly. Jack grinned, and waved at a slim girl who was serving as a waitress, who soon hurried over.  
  
"_Sí_?"  
  
"Two mugs o' grog, love," Jack ordered, holding up two fingers. "And some food."  
  
She smiled, and bobbed a courtesy before hurrying away.  
  
"Grog?" asked Lord Howard.  
  
"Rum, lad," Jack said. "Warms the cockles of your heart, as my shipmate Thornton used to say."  
  
"Oh."  
  
The grog came, and they lifted tankards. "Cheers," said Jack.  
  
Lord Howard peered into his tankard, and sniffed. "It smells ... good. What did you say was in it, apart from rum?"  
  
Jack swallowed his first mouthful, and licked his lips in satisfaction. "Dunno. Mostly rum, I reckon. Drink up." Howard sipped. A thoughtful look crossed his face as he considered the taste, and then he lifted the tankard to his mouth and gulped down some more. Jack smiled privately, and turned to his own drink.  
  
A plate of fish stew and two more mugs of grog later, Lord Howard was rivalling Jack for conversation, chattering away about the voyage from England and about watching the _Fiery Dragon_ sail away with his father's goods. Jack was matching his companion drink for drink, but he was more used to it and his mind was still clear - reasonably so, at least.  
  
Their plates were cleared away, and Edward Howard leant on the table and kept on talking. His eyes were bright and his face animated, and the grog kept disappearing down his throat.  
  
After a while, two pretty girls came over to their table. Jack shifted up along his bench and let one of them lean against him, draping his arm over her shoulders. Howard looked a bit taken aback when the other girl sat down next to him, but kept on with his current tale (something about his father's exploits in the recent Civil War in England). Jack's girl helped herself to some of his grog and settled back against his chest.  
  
Lord Howard came to the end of his story, drained his tankard and peered hazily at Jack. "So," he said.  
  
"So," Jack agreed.  
  
Howard examined the bottom of his mug. "S'empty."  
  
"So t'is," Jack said.  
  
The lord nodded, and laid his head down on the table. In a moment he was snoring peaceably.  
  
Jack disentangled his girl's arm, and got up from his seat to feel in Howard's pockets, triumphantly producing the leather moneybag after a few moments. He tipped the coins out on to the table, and whistled. They were mostly gold sovereigns, with a few smaller gold coins and some silver shillings. Both the girls looked on keenly as Jack put three or four of the sovereigns back into the bag, and the bag back into Edward Howard's pocket. He tucked most of the rest into his own belt pouch, gave Howard's girl a half-sovereign and left the remainder of the money on the table, to pay for the food and drink.  
  
"Thanks, mate," he told the sleeping lord, who did not stir.  
  
He put on his hat and held out his arm to his girl, who exchanged a brief flurry of Spanish with her friend, and took it. They wandered out together into the cool Caribbean night. The sound of the waves mingled with the wind in the palm trees; high above the stars twinkled down. Jack's companion looked up at him, and he smiled at her.  
  
"It'll have to be your place, love - I'm what you might call homeless, currently."  
  
She seemed to grasp his meaning, and turned up between two buildings. They climbed for a while, weaving up above the harbour, before the girl pushed open the door to a small wooden cabin and leading him in. Jack glanced around outside before closing the door behind them both, and throwing his hat and sword belt off on to the cabin floor. The girl smiled, and caught his hand, drawing him across to the pallet by the wall, and pulling him down. 


	22. Chapter 22

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** this chapter's a bit of an anomaly, being entirely landlocked. The natives Jack meets are supposed to be the Taino Indians, who were Hispaniola's (now Haiti/the Dominican Republic) indigenous people before the Spanish wiped them all out. By the end of the 17th century, not many of them were left, but they still survived. My logic for them not slaughtering poor Jack at sight is tenuous - he doesn't look like a Spanish soldier, and he doesn't speak Spanish. Please suspend disbelief!_  
  
----  
  
It was noon. In the shade of the jungle, Jack Sparrow sat with his back against a tree, weakly fanning himself with his hat. A scrawny mule nibbled leaves nearby, occasionally pausing to look quizzically at Jack before resuming its meal.  
  
Jack had left the girl's cabin in Santo Domingo early, leaving her with a couple of gold coins and creeping out. He had liberated the mule from a paddock, together with a rough blanket hanging over the fence, a wooden saddle, and some rope for a halter. The mule did not seem to mind being kidnapped, to begin with, and had submitted peaceably to being harnessed and mounted before ambling off northwards.  
  
For a while, Jack had rather enjoyed rolling along on the mule's back. The movement was not dissimilar to being aboard ship. The sun was still low in the sky and birds were singing in the trees as Jack and his mount left the town and headed into the jungle beyond. But even in the shade, it soon grew hot and humid; and Jack's backside was quickly sore. The only positive aspect was the abundance of fresh fruit, and he munched as he went along.  
  
Hours had passed, though, with no sign of another person. Finally, Jack stopped the mule and painfully levered himself off his mount to collapse on the ground. Everything ached; he was sweating and thirsty, and wishing that he had chosen another route to Tortuga. It had just seemed so much more reasonable to cut across land rather than find yet another ship and sail all the way around the island.  
  
He hauled himself to his feet, using the tree as a support, and took the mule's halter. It protested with a grunt as Jack remounted.  
  
"Sorry, you miserable bugger," Jack told it. "Gotta get somewhere - can't stay here. Go on." He kicked it with his heels. "Move!"  
  
Slowly the mule moved off, still munching a mouthful of leaves.  
  
The path was fairly clear, and Jack guessed that either traders or the native tribes used it regularly to get to and from Santo Domingo. A fast river rushed along below him at the bottom of the valley, refreshing in sound but frustratingly inaccessible. Jack hung on to the rope bridle, and thought of the sea.  
  
He slept fitfully that night and woke up with his chest and face covered in insect bites. The rest of him had been covered, thankfully, but the parts that had been attacked were painful. He was ravenous, too, for something more solid than fruit, and got back on the mule with a hollow stomach and itchy skin.  
  
That day was worse than the first. By the end of it, Jack's daydreams of the _Black Pearl_ were becoming more like hallucinations, and his hands kept leaping out to grasp invisible shrouds and steer a ship that was not there. He found a couple of small streams and drank; the mule grateful for the liquid also. Some of the insect bites had all but disappeared, but others had swollen up and were smarting terribly.  
  
As darkness fell, Jack rolled off the mule, which snorted and turned about a few times before settling down for the night. Jack himself kicked half-heartedly at a patch of leaves, making a sporadic check for large beetles or snakes, and then lay down and went to sleep.  
  
He was woken for the dawn watch by O'Connell.  
  
"Stir your stumps, you lazy son of an English dog!" the Irishman said, shaking Jack's shoulder.  
  
Jack shook his head. "Not getting up," he mumbled. "Not my watch. Don't have to get up for you."  
  
"But the _Pearl_'s yours, lad," O'Connell said. "Don't you want to rise and take care of her?"  
  
"I reckon I should, then," Jack agreed, getting to his feet. He reached for his coat and realised he had it on. "That's strange. That's very strange."  
  
"We've all got our coats on," O'Connell reassured him, turning and leading the way out on deck.  
  
"Oh. So that's all right then?" Jack asked, hurrying after the mate. O'Connell flashed him an uncharacteristic grin.  
  
"Aye, lad."  
  
Captain Flint was at the helm, steering the _Pearl_ through thick fog. The sea below seemed calm, but the ship was rushing along. "Welcome aboard the _Black Pearl_, lad."  
  
Jack swept his hat off and bowed flamboyantly at the crew, watching from vantage points in the rigging. "Thank you, cap'n, though I've been aboard for years."  
  
"You just feel like that," Anamaria called down from the top of the mainmast. "It's not true, though, none of it is."  
  
"What's not true?" Jack squinted up at her.  
  
"This!" said Flint. "Fire the cannon!"  
  
"You can't do that!" Jack protested, waving his arms. "You mustn't fire, cap'n!"  
  
A group of pirates hurried up to him, and picked him up, hoisting him above their heads, and calling to each other in a strange language. "Oy!" Jack said, frantic, fighting. "Put me down, lads, put me down!"  
  
"You're ours now," Thornton told him. "We'll never let you go, Jack Sparrow. Never let you go ... never let you go ..."  
  
The rest of the pirates took up the chant, and Jack felt himself drifting off to sleep again.  
  
He floated in a peaceful darkness for a while, rocked in the cradle of unconsciousness. But nobody can stay asleep forever, and Jack woke a second time as somebody stroked something cool and soothing over his forehead. Water was dripping into his mouth - cold, fresh water, and he swallowed reflexively and coughed.  
  
A woman's voice chided him until he settled again, and then the soothing stroking began again. Jack smiled lazily. This was nice. This was something he could get used to. He began to let himself drift off again, before a thought hit his mind. The woman had not been speaking English, nor even Spanish. And hadn't he been on board the _Black Pearl_? How was he therefore being comforted by a woman, lying on something soft, with the sound of leaves and birdsong around him?  
  
Jack's eyes snapped open. Above his head there was a canopy of green, and faces surrounded him. Unfamiliar, dark faces, but with kindness and worry in their eyes. When Jack tried to sit up, hands pushed him back down again, firmly but not roughly. The woman spoke again, and Jack, flicking his eyes sideways, saw that she was middle-aged and dressed in rather less than he was used to women wearing. Her necklaces and pendants rivalled his own decoration, and she was ordering the rest of the group around with ease Jack recognised. Wherever he was, this woman was the captain, and she was obviously a good one. He relaxed and closed his eyes again.  
  
It was night before he woke again. This time he was alone, in a circular hut with a straw roof, and he sat up slowly. He was sitting on a straw pallet placed directly on the earth floor, and covered with a light but scratchy blanket. His boots, hat, coat, headscarf and sash were piled neatly close by, with his sword belt next to the pile. It was dim in the hut, but sunlight shafted in through the cracks in the roof so Jack knew it was day.  
  
He glanced down at the bites on his chest and to his surprise found they had reduced vastly in size. Some of them seemed to have some sort of brown ointment smeared on them, and when he felt his face with his fingers he found the same ointment there. But the itching was gone, and when he tried standing up he found himself steady on his feet. The nagging headache that had been beating at his temples since noon on the first day out of Santo Domingo had gone, and he was no longer so hungry or thirsty. Most importantly, he remembered where he was going, and why he was going there.  
  
Jack pushed his hair back off his face, the beads clinking in a comforting, familiar way, and slowly bent to put on his boots. Once he was shod, he crossed to the door of the hut and opened it, looking out curiously.  
  
He was in the middle of a small native village. A circle of round huts stood in a clearing in the jungle, the blue sky showing where the trees and vegetation had been felled. There was a fire burning off to one side, and a bustle of women and girls cooking something savoury on it in a vast earthenware dish. There were men also, making and mending and tending to tools and weapons. Most of the people were dressed simply and sparingly, but a few of them had European-style coats or shirts or breeches.  
  
Some of the women looked up as Jack stood in the doorway of his hut and examined the scene, and shortly the middle-aged matriarch he remembered from before - was it earlier that day? The previous day? - came hurrying over to him, and stood hands on hips to survey him. She prodded his bites, felt his forehead, and made him open his mouth so she could look inside. Finally, she nodded, seemingly satisfied.  
  
Jack put his hands together and gave her a little bow of thanks. The woman stared at him for a moment, and then laughed. He laughed with her. She beckoned, and he followed her across the clearing to the cooking fire, where she made him sit down on a log and gave him a wooden bowl full of the stew that was cooking. It proved to be vegetables mixed with some sort of meat. Jack decided he was too famished to concern himself with precisely what sort of meat, and he tucked in with a hearty appetite. Water was produced, also, and he alternated sips of that with mouthfuls of stew and so finished his meal. The women surrounding him nodded in satisfaction, and spoke briskly to each other in their own language. Leaning back on his elbows, Jack let his food digest and watched them as they went about their business. One of the smaller girls came and perched on the log by his side, and tentatively put her hand out to touch his beads before snatching her hand away again. Jack grinned roguishly at her, and she squeaked and ran off to hide behind her mother's legs.  
  
After a while, Jack stood up and crossed to the woman who had been looking after him. She turned as he approached, and graced him with a brief nod and a quizzical glance.  
  
"I'm looking for my mule," Jack explained. The words were met with a blank look. He thought for a moment, and then bent over, put his hands on the ground and made a good effort at replicating the animal's snorting neigh. He straightened, and was rewarded with howls of laughter from everyone within earshot. But his nurse took his hand and led him around the back of the huts, where the mule proved to be tied up and looking contented.  
  
Jack went up to it, scratched it behind the ears, and had a quick look at the knot, which was not at all seamanlike but seemed to be holding. He turned back to the matriarch.  
  
"I've got to go," he said, feeling the need to say _something_ even though he knew she would not understand him. "Got to get to Tortuga. Tortuga?"  
  
Astonishingly, she nodded.  
  
"You know Tortuga?"  
  
The woman said something quickly in her language and pointed, out of the village and away. Jack glanced up at the sun, did some calculations, and decided that she was pointing northwest and that he had most of the day left for travelling.  
  
Ten minutes later he had the mule saddled, his coat rolled up behind it, and his hat and sword belt on. The matriarch did not seem happy to have her patient vanish so quickly, but had given him a flask of water and a severe glance that Jack interpreted as "drink, and drink often." He gave her another bow, and then, filled suddenly with gratitude that these people had rescued him from a lonely, delirious end on land, gave her a deep kiss. This was met with cheers from the rest of the village, and Jack mounted his mule and rode away to a forest of waves and a chorus of what he presumed to be farewells.  
  
With the flask of water in hand, and his lesson about going too long without water learned, Jack made steady and safer progress, and a week after leaving Santo Domingo came over the brow of a hill to see the turquoise blue of the ocean lying below him. He let out a whoop of pure joy, and the mule, startled out of its wits, careened down the hill towards the water. Jack hung on, laughing all the way, hair streaming, on his way back to home - back to sea. 


	23. Chapter 23

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** sorry for the delay in getting this up - last week this fic wrote itself, this week it's not behaving.  
  
A note also on my Anamaria's origins. I think she's probably the child of an escaped slave woman and some sailor or other. She's got family dotted around, mostly in the hills above Tortuga town, from African slave stock but escaped. Historical accuracy is again probably being played with, here. At home, my!Anamaria speaks a sort of Creole. Now, I looked up Haitian Creole on the net, and discovered that it's spelt these days in a way that makes it unrecognisable from its French roots. Phonetically, it's still surprisingly close. In the late 17th century, it would probably have been closer to its roots; so I've messed around a little with correct modern French to create a sort of semi-Creole. Translation at the end of the chapter. Hope that all makes sense._   
  
----  
  
"Three months?" Jack said. "Three _months_?"  
  
"Look at her, lad," Captain Flint said.  
  
They were standing below the _Black Pearl_, hauled out on the Tortuga shipyard. She was resting on supports, propped up by solid planks of wood at intervals under her keel, and the sound of hammering rang through the air. Seen from underneath, the hull of the ship was in a bad state. The damage was more than superficial, though indeed salt water had taken its toll on the black paint. In several places there were loose planks, or worse, holes in the fabric of the vessel.  
  
"She'd not have survived another voyage," said Flint, patting his ship tenderly. "She was scuppered, Jack; she'd have gone to Davy Jones if we'd met another storm. It's a wonder we made Tortuga. Our _Pearl_'s a good ship, and a fast'un, but she's old. She's seen many miles and won many battles. It's as well that we made a good profit on the last trip, and I'm fittin' her out with new sails and new rope, but the repairs take time."  
  
"But three months?" Jack repeated.  
  
"Join another ship. You were unlucky with the _Dragon_. 'Tis odd, I'd heard good things of that ship."  
  
"I'd like to know who from," Jack said. "Bloody traitors to common decency, that lot."  
  
"Still," Flint mused, turning away from the _Black Pearl_, "you came through, got home, with a few coins in hand."  
  
"I'm Jack Sparrow, savvy?" Jack said, grinning. "I knew I'd get back. Home ... not going to be home until the old lady's back afloat." He cast a last look back at the ship as they turned the corner, round to the harbour.  
  
"So join another ship," Flint repeated. "Take the _Lady Jane_, out there," he indicated a graceful brigantine out in the harbour. "Her cap'n's a good man, name o' Sancho - a dago, but a good man. Follows the Code. I could put in a word for you, Jack."  
  
Jack shrugged. "I thought mebbe I'd go and visit Anamaria," he said.  
  
Flint nodded, approvingly. "You do that, lad."  
  
So Jack did. He hitched a ride with a man taking goods out of Tortuga town into the hills above the harbour, and arrived at Anamaria's aunt's small cabin towards evening. Outside the house he saw two women sitting making baskets, both dressed in brightly-coloured skirts with flowers in their hair.  
  
As Jack approached, the younger of the two women looked up and dropped her bundle of canes on the ground. Picking up her skirts, she came rushing across the dry earth towards him.  
  
"Jack!"  
  
He took off his hat. "Anamaria?"  
  
She cannoned into him and gave him a crushing hug. "I thought you were aboard the _Fiery Dragon_?"  
  
"I was," he said.  
  
"So what happened?" She stood back, and they surveyed each other. Jack thought how odd it was to see his friend actually dressing like a girl - he had become so used to seeing her in shirt and breeches, hair pulled back, that in her flowery skirt and hair flowing loose she seemed to be an alien being.  
  
"Oh," he said, as they began to walk across to the cabin, "I found their morals were somewhat looser than mine, and we had a disagreement."  
  
"There is a story in this," she commented. "I suppose I will not have to ask for it to be told."  
  
"Course not," Jack said. "It's a good one, full of daring deeds and gallantry and piracy, featuring Jack Sparrow in the role of the hero."  
  
"All your stories feature Jack Sparrow in the role of the hero," Anamaria pointed out.  
  
"But of course!" he returned. "Where else would a story be, did it not feature said pirate?"  
  
She frowned at him, shook her head, and said: "You are madder now than you were a month ago."  
  
They had reached the cabin now, and the woman sitting making baskets looked up. "_Te m'présentes ton ami, Ana_?"  
  
"_Çui don' je t'a parlé_," Anamaria replied.  
  
"O!" The woman stood up, and hands on hips looked Jack up and down. "This be the famous Jack Sparrow?"  
  
Jack, glad they had switched to English, gave the hat in his hand a flourish. "That's right, ma'am - and I surmise you would be Anamaria's noble aunt?"  
  
"_Il parle tuju' comme ça_?" Anamaria's aunt asked her niece.  
  
"_Tu-temps_," Anamaria agreed.  
  
"_Fou_?" her aunt questioned.  
  
"Very," said Anamaria.  
  
Jack, who had been listening carefully, furrowed his brow. "You've established that I'm mad?" he checked.  
  
"Very good!" Anamaria said.  
  
"Thought you'd worked that one out years ago, love," he said. He threw off his sword belt and sat down with his back against the cabin, next to the basket-making materials.  
  
The women settled down again next to him. Anamaria asked for the story, and Jack willingly launched into it, making his sword fights even more exciting and the crew of the _Fiery Dragon_ rather more fearsome than they had actually been. Anamaria and her aunt wove their baskets, but both paused and devoted their whole attention to Jack as he described the Indians and his short stay in their village.  
  
"I thought they were all gone," Anamaria's aunt said, wonderingly.  
  
Jack shook his head. "Dunno why they looked after me instead of shooting me full o' their arrows. But I was extremely glad they decided to give me a drink and stick me back together again, instead."  
  
Anamaria passed him a bundle of canes. "Help us with the baskets, Jack."  
  
Jack watched what she and her aunt were doing with the canes, weaving them around a framework of thicker canes, and began to copy them, his slender fingers managing tolerably well.  
  
"Anyway," he continued, pausing in the basket making a few moments later, "then I pinched a boat in Cap Haïtien, paddled along the coast and 'cross to Tortuga."  
  
"All that way on your own?" Anamaria said, doubtfully.  
  
"All by me onesies," Jack confirmed, omitting the fact that the boat had been tied to the stern of a much larger vessel and he had only cast it loose in sight of Tortuga Island. His friend continued to frown at him, so he moved quickly on. "Got a look at the _Pearl_ in Tortuga."  
  
She looked up. "Oh?"  
  
"Three months," Jack said dolefully. "Sure, she'll be a beauty when she's ready. Cap'n's giving her new canvas, new rope, the whole caboodle, but ..."  
  
"Three months," Anamaria agreed. "_Notr' bateau_," she added, turning to her aunt. "So, what will you do?" she asked Jack, glancing back at him.  
  
He wove another cane around the basket frame before answering. "I don't know, love."  
  
"_Lui pu rester ici_," Anamaria's aunt threw in, casually, and Jack gave her a grin, and saluted her with his hands together.  
  
"_Merci_," he managed. "But I cannot stay for three months, Ana, you know that. Would drive you and your good aunt completely ..." he waved his hand in the air vaguely, "mad. Maybe. And though this is a beautiful spot, it's too still." He put his unfinished basket down, and rested his wrists on his knees.  
  
"Jack Sparrow does not know what to do?" Anamaria said. "But you always know what to do."  
  
"Not this time," he said, staring out at the magnificent view of lush green hillside and clear blue sea before him.  
  
He did stay, in the end, for a week. In return for a place to sleep and a share of food, he did some of the heavier jobs on the aunt's small farm, including hauling a great bundle of palm leaves on to the cabin roof and mending some holes. Once he had finished that particular task, he sat on the roof for quite some time, gazing out to sea and running possible next steps through his mind. Below him, Anamaria looked up from weeding and frowned.  
  
She confronted him when he came down. "Why don't you just go back to the town?"  
  
"Eh?" He glanced at her, adjusting his headscarf. "What d'you mean?"  
  
"Oh!" she exclaimed, dropping her basket of weeds and waving her fists at him, close to hitting him hard in the face. "I know you are not stupid, Jack Sparrow, so why behave as if you are?"  
  
Jack sighed, and let his hands drop from his hair. "Fools enough folk, Ana. Show them what they want to see, and they don't look too hard at what's inside."  
  
"It does not fool me." She stood, hands resting on her hips, and looked hard at him. "Go back to the ship, Jack. You would rather be with her than with me."  
  
"But she's not afloat," Jack pointed out.  
  
"You know enough about ships, by now," Anamaria retorted. "Help them repair her! Better that than sitting on the roof, here, wanting her."  
  
He smiled, his eyes totally serious. "There aren't many who know me like you do, love."  
  
Anamaria shook her head. "_Je sais_. Go on."  
  
Jack grinned, and swept her one of his extraordinary, daft bows. "To hear is to obey, milady."  
  
He darted inside the cabin to collect his coat, hat and sword belt, and she heard him saying a quick goodbye to her aunt. Coming out, he bent to deposit a quick, light kiss on her lips. "Thank you, Anamaria."  
  
And he was off, hurrying quickly down the path towards Tortuga town. Anamaria stood and watched him, one hand touching her mouth, and a smile playing on her lips.  
  
"_Au'voir_, Jack," she murmured.   
  
----  
  
_**Translations of the French:** "Are you going to introduce your friend to me, Ana?" - "He's the one I told you about." - "Does he always talk like that?" - "All the time." - "Mad?" - "Our boat." - "He could stay here." - "Thank you." - "Goodbye."_


	24. Chapter 24

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_  
  
----  
  
"Gently now!" came the cry. "Now lower away ..."  
  
Slowly and surely, ropes creaking, the _Black Pearl_ was lowered into the deep, calm water of the harbour. She gleamed, from bow to stern and from keel to the top of the mainmast. The holes in her side were mended, and the woodwork painted in fresh black stain. The neatly furled sails were new black canvas, and the ropes pale and clean and unfrayed.  
  
Jack thought she was beautiful, and sat perched on a barrel as she was floated, watching. He had spent the previous months helping the shipbuilders with the repairs, hammering and sawing and caulking seams, and felt even more attached to the ship than ever - if that were possible.  
  
Later on, Jack, and a few others of the _Pearl_'s crew who had remained in Tortuga, rowed their captain to his ship. Passing under the bowsprit, Jack looked up at their buxom figurehead, newly painted and glorious, and grinned at it. They tied the boat up alongside the _Pearl_ and followed Flint aboard, climbing up one of the new lines and clambering over the rail.  
  
"Wouldn't recognise the old thing," said Bob, one of Jack's crewmates. Jack turned from caressing the foremast.  
  
"She's the same ship, but in new clothes," he said. "Bonnier than ever. And faster, I'd warrant, with those holes closed up."  
  
"Can't wait to get under sail?" Flint asked.  
  
"No sir!" Jack replied, looking upwards to the topsails.  
  
"Aye, that'll be good," Bob agreed, with a little less enthusiasm.  
  
Flint laid a hand on Jack's shoulder. "A word wi' ye, lad?"  
  
Jack followed the captain down to his cabin, which had been refitted with new furnishings and bright, clean textiles. It was luxurious and opulent; very much the abode of a successful pirate captain. Flint waved him into a seat and took one himself, lighting a cigar as he did so and puffing fragrant smoke into the air.  
  
"I'm planning on setting sail next week," he said. "I have to find a new complement of men, but I'd be guessing you want to join me?"  
  
"Aye, cap'n," Jack said. "If you'd be so good as to have me."  
  
"I'll do more'n that," Flint said. "I'd like to ask you to become me second mate, Jack. I know you're young yet, but you've as much sea-time under your belt than many men, and more sense."  
  
Jack said nothing, looking down at his nails and picking at them absently, turning the offer over in his mind. Second mate ... it meant more wealth, more privilege, more responsibility - more time spent with his beloved _Pearl_. He had not expected the promotion, not so soon, and the prospect was tantalising. Finally, he looked up and met Flint's eyes.  
  
"Be honoured and delighted to accept, captain," he said.  
  
"Excellent." Flint looked pleased, and stood up to offer Jack his hand. Jack took it, and they shook. "You'll be in command of the port watch; have an extra share in anything we win; and not so much hard graft."  
  
"But less time aloft," Jack mused, the thought suddenly coming to him.  
  
"Less, but you can't stay a topman forever if you want to get on," Flint told him.  
  
"That's very true," Jack said. "Thank you, captain." He turned to go, and a question struck him. "Who's first mate?"  
  
"There's an old shipmate o' mine in port," Flint said, "man named John Pin. Call him Belaying Pin, we do, usually. He's a good sailor. I'm going to put the question to him this evenin', bring him aboard tomorrow if he agrees."  
  
"Surely he will?" said Jack. "Who'd refuse the _Black Pearl_, especially now she's in all her true beauty? No man in his right mind."  
  
Flint laughed. "Not all men are in their right minds, lad. And some have loyalty to other ships and other men. Some have loyalty to themselves only, and will go where the wind is fairest. You're a man with loyalty to this ship - I won't fool meself by believing you've come back for me. You'd sail aboard the _Pearl_ if the Devil himself were captain."  
  
"Aye, I would," Jack agreed, "but I'd be working out how to get her free of his hold. Lucky for all of us that the Devil ain't captain, isn't it?"  
  
"Lucky for me," Captain Flint said. He picked up a piece of parchment from the table, and passed it to Jack. "Supplies we need. Can you see to it?" A money bag was added to the list. "Somewhat to pay for them with."  
  
"Aye, sir," Jack said, pocketing the money and folding the list. He opened the door, and paused one last time. "Thank you, captain," he said, again.  
  
"Go on with you," Flint said, and Jack hurried out.  
  
They spent most of the next week preparing the _Black Pearl_ for her voyage. Although Captain Flint had paid handsomely for the repairs, and trusted the shipbuilders, he nevertheless wanted every line checking for frayed ends, every knot retying, and every inch of the ship swabbed down. In addition, getting supplies on board took a day, and cataloguing them as they were stored in the hold another half day.  
  
Flint's friend John "Belaying" Pin agreed to join the crew as first mate. He was a taciturn Norfolk man with a wild beard and bad teeth, but as Jack worked with him on the preparations he realised that Pin knew a lot about sailing, and that he was a friendly enough man willing to pass his knowledge on. Initially, Pin had cast some sidelong looks at his crewmate, clearly thinking him too young and therefore too inexperienced to carry out his tasks. Jack, thrilled at being back on board the _Pearl_, did not really care what Pin thought, and threw himself into the jobs Flint gave him. He shimmied up and down the rigging like a monkey, and heaved barrels around like a weightlifter; and after two days Belaying Pin said, gruffly: "You're none too bad after all, Sparrow. I thought the cap'n had taken leave of his senses, 'pointing a lad like you as second mate, but I see he hadn't."  
  
Jack paused in coiling a rope, and nodded his thanks.  
  
In the evenings, Flint and his two mates did the rounds of Tortuga's many taverns, canvassing for crew. Ten men remained from those who had sailed into Tortuga aboard the _Black Pearl_, four months earlier, and eight of them said they wanted to rejoin her. This meant that they were many hands short, and so from the variety of buccaneers, deserters from the Navy, and the other assorted riff-raff found on the island, a new crew had to be found.  
  
Jack found this canvassing as pleasurable as the rest of the work. Sitting in a tavern, a mug of something in his hand, he regaled the watching drinkers with tales of the _Black Pearl_'s adventures, exaggerating the riches she had won, and describing the far-flung places she had been.  
  
"And now the captain's looking for similarly courageous gentlemen," he finished, "to join us as we continue our quest for treasure and glory." He paused. "The term 'gentlemen' used loosely, of course."  
  
"Equal shares?" one man asked, swilling down his rum.  
  
Jack inclined his head. "Equal shares."  
  
"This be the black beauty out in the harbour?" someone else said.  
  
"That's her," Jack agreed. "Sails as sweet as anything, does the old _Pearl_. Fastest ship in the Caribbean."  
  
There were some doubtful looks at this.  
  
"And why's old Skinflint sent you to find his crew?" the first man questioned. "Whoever you are."  
  
"Me?" said Jack. "I'm Jack Sparrow, second mate of the _Black Pearl_, savvy? Not unusual for a man to send his mate to find him some crew, is it?"  
  
"You're the second mate?" There was general laughter. "But you're only a lad."  
  
"A lad who's done and seen a sight more than you ever will, Dick Blainey," a voice cut in, from behind them. Jack whirled, braids flying. "Mr Sparrow," Bootstrap Bill Turner said. "I hear you're looking for crew."  
  
"Bill!" Jack leaped up, knocking over his stool as he did so, and faced his old friend. Bill was carrying a canvas bag over his shoulder, and sported long hair and a straggly beard. He had clearly just come off a ship, but nonetheless he looked lively and pleased to see Jack. "I am indeed. Would you be looking for a vessel?"  
  
"Aye, that I am. Will you have me?"  
  
"Like a shot," said Jack. "Best check with the captain, though - in fact he's aboard this very moment - how about going to find out what he thinks?"  
  
Bill nodded. "Aye, sounds like a plan."  
  
Jack turned back to the other men. "Should any of you fine men wish to join the _Pearl_, merely come and enquire aboard. We sail next Tuesday." He picked up his hat and put it on, drained his tankard, and strolled out followed by Bootstrap. Behind them, voices broke out in a clamour of noise.  
  
"Fine performance, Jack," Bill said, falling into step beside his old friend. "Flint made you second mate?"  
  
"He did," Jack said.  
  
"He chose well," Bootstrap approved. "You don't seem that surprised to see me, lad."  
  
Jack shrugged. "Told you I'd see you in Tortuga. Here we are, in Tortuga. Makes sense to me."  
  
His companion shook his head. "I'm glad it does for one of us."  
  
"What'd you tell fair Elsie?" Jack asked. "She take kindly to you leaving Portsmouth Town, did she?"  
  
"No." Bill hefted his bag higher on his shoulder. "Not kindly at all. But I lost me job - the old man died and the shop had to close. Couldn't find another. And with Elsie being with child ..."  
  
"She's expecting?" Jack said. "My congratulations! Bootstrap Bill, a father. Hope you're planning on being a better one than my dad was for me."  
  
Bill nodded. "But a man needs money to bring up a child, and we had none. So I set sail aboard a merchant, slipped anchor at Port Royal, and came here in the hope of finding the _Pearl_."  
  
They came out into the harbour, and Jack waved a hand. "And there she is."  
  
"There she be." Bootstrap looked lovingly at the ship. "She looks fine."  
  
"Just been repaired," Jack said, proudly. "Cap'n put a deal of money into it - no more leaks, for a while at any rate."  
  
"You had luck?" Bill asked.  
  
"Luck, and keen piratical skills," Jack said. "And luck," he added, as an afterthought.  
  
Bill grinned. "I've missed it," he said. "I love my Elsie - she's a sweet lass. But you were right, Jack, that time in Portsmouth. I can't do without the sea for that long. I missed it, plain and simple."  
  
Untying the _Pearl_'s skiff from the pier, Jack climbed in and unshipped the oars. "Course you did. Jump in, Bill. Let's go and see Captain Flint about that berth of yourn."  
  
They struck out across the harbour, sweeps dipping in and out of the water in time, back to the _Black Pearl_. 


	25. Chapter 25

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_  
  
----  
  
Less than a week later, the _Black Pearl_ set sail from Tortuga with a crew of thirty, including Bill Turner. Anamaria was not on board - she had sent a message saying she was happy, for the moment, with her aunt. They had found a young local boy to act as cabin boy instead. Captain Flint set the watches and told his mates to make for Jamaica.  
  
Jack's port watch grumbled to begin with, finding themselves under the command of a man most of them regarded as a mere boy. They muttered to each other, commenting on Jack's steering or his orders, and cast irritated glances in his direction. But Jack had sharp ears and a quick tongue, and he used the latter to useful effect. None of the other pirates knew how to cope with his comments, being more used to physical violence than clever words, and after a couple of weeks at sea, the port watch were quiet and under Jack Sparrow's control.  
  
And so they sailed and looted, drank and fought. With the repairs done, the _Black Pearl_ was indeed faster than ever, and she outran every ship that attempted to give chase. They terrorised the Caribbean for two years, becoming more and more daring as they attacked merchant ships and Navy vessels alike. Jack soon forgot his disappointment at spending less time aloft, with the joy of feeling the ship respond to his touch as he stood at the helm. His fingers caressed the wheel, adjusting course gently, slightly, and he called to his men to trim the sails so that they caught the best wind. The _Black Pearl_ surged forward, and Jack's wild hair streamed behind him. In those moments he felt as though he was master of the world and none could harm him.  
  
After two years in the West Indies, they struck south and sailed along the coast of Latin America. Putting into port here, they heard a mixture of Spanish or Portuguese and a variety of native languages, and the goods on sail were exotic and colourful. Pickings were good, the crew was happy, and life, thought Jack, was pretty near perfect.  
  
It continued in this way for another two years or so. The _Black Pearl_ voyaged around the Caribbean and the Atlantic, changing crew members every now and then at Tortuga. Jack, of course, stayed with the ship, as did Belaying Pin and Bootstrap Bill. Elias Carpenter, who had originally rejoined the crew after the repairs, went home to England. Whenever they stopped in Tortuga, Jack went to visit Anamaria, but their conversations grew awkward as they got older. On his fourth visit, she was no longer living with her aunt, who said she did not know where Anamaria had gone. Jack was sorry, but he had other things to think about.  
  
And now, it was 1669. The _Black Pearl_ had paused at Tortuga for supplies, to empty her hold, and to take on new men, before setting sail again and heading eastwards, to hover off the Windward Islands and prey on ships limping in from the Atlantic. They were doing well, the weather was good, and spirits were high.  
  
Jack's watch was on duty, some of the men cleaning or mending, others lounging around waiting for something to do. Jack was at the helm, Captain Flint's compass in hand, and a course of east-south-east set. The years had taken little toll on him - his hair was a little longer, and a little more weighed down with beads, but he still wore his red headscarf and a striped sash, and his eyes were still rimmed in kohl. Currently they were dark with concentration as he held the _Pearl_ to her course.  
  
Captain Flint came up the steps to the helm, and watched Jack silently for a few minutes.  
  
"How are ye?" he asked.  
  
"Good, captain," Jack said, turning the wheel a fraction.  
  
"No sight of any quarry?"  
  
"Not yet," Jack replied. "Soon as we get any, I'll be sure to let you know, sir."  
  
"You've done well, lad," Flint said. "I reckoned, all them years ago, that you'd be a good sailor; but being a good sailor and being a good pirate are not the same thing. I'm glad I took you on."  
  
Jack grinned. "Not as glad as me, cap'n."  
  
Flint nodded. "Found your element, didn't you? Well, I'm going below. Should you sight any vessel, call me."  
  
"Aye, sir," Jack said. Flint gave him a friendly thump on the shoulder and disappeared.  
  
They sailed for another three hours without seeing anything. The port watch was coming to an end, and the sun starting to set, when the lookout called from aloft, "Sail ho!"  
  
Jack glanced at the compass, and then up towards the crow's nest. "What sail?" he shouted.  
  
"Merchant frigate!" came the reply. "Laden. Off to the east."  
  
Turning the wheel, Jack changed course. "Arm yourselves!" he ordered. "Someone fetch the captain. We're going after her." One of the crew hurried off to find Flint. "Hoist the fore topsail!" Jack called.  
  
They put on all their canvas, and on her new course the _Black Pearl_ surged forwards. Flint came up on deck, buckling on his sword belt, and someone handed Jack his.  
  
"Merchant," said Jack, hand stroking the wheel, tenderly.  
  
"Good lad," Flint approved, taking a look through his telescope. "Let's rouse the starboard watch, get them on deck. Arm the cannon. Keep her on this course, Jack."  
  
Soon, all the crew were on deck and receiving their orders from Flint. They were to sail in close, heave to and fire before boarding the other vessel. It was a plan they had carried out many a time, and everyone knew what to do and when to do it.  
  
Belaying Pin emerged on deck, rubbing his forehead in a tired sort of way, and came up to Jack. "Ship?"  
  
"Merchant," Jack said.  
  
"Want me to take the helm so you can fight?" Belaying Pin asked, yawning. "Truth be that I've no energy to wave a sword today."  
  
Nodding, Jack let go of the wheel and moved aside for the first mate to take his place. "Thanks. We're holding a steady easterly course."  
  
Pin took the wheel. "East it is. Off you go, lad."  
  
Jack hurried to join the rest of the crew. Flint gave him a quick glance, looked to check that the ship was being looked after, and continued with his briefing. Leaning against the rail next to Bootstrap Bill, Jack flexed his fingers and tightened his headscarf, in preparation for the fight to come.  
  
They closed quickly. Flint had chosen to go for the direct approach, and the Jolly Roger was flying from the stern. The sun shone off the bone-white skull, and aboard the merchant vessel they could see men rushing around, preparing to defend their ship.  
  
Everything was going entirely to plan, a well-oiled routine. As they came alongside, Belaying Pin spun the wheel and called for the _Black Pearl_ to heave to. Flint ordered the cannon to fire. The grapples flew, catching on the rail of the merchant ship. Jack seized a shroud and launched himself through the air, drawing his sword as he landed and searching for the richest-looking target. About him was the usual chaos, as the pirates began to ransack the merchants, and the merchants did their best to fight back.  
  
Jack was doing well, having knocked out a sailor and taken a rather nice dagger from him, before moving on to battling a merchant who was handy with his sword. He was enjoying the fight, throwing out comments as he circled the other man, when a shot rang out from behind him, quickly followed by another.  
  
He parried, not letting the noise distract him, but then he heard Bill Turner's voice. "Jack! Jack!"  
  
Jack ducked the other man's sword and turned. "Bit busy, William!"  
  
"Back to the _Pearl_!" Bootstrap called. "Retreat!"  
  
"Damn it!" Jack cursed, pushing back his opponent and grasping a handy shroud. As he swung back across the gap between the ships, another shot whizzed past his ear, and he rolled on to the deck of the _Black Pearl_, dropping his sword as he did so.  
  
Bootstrap was bent over a prone figure, huddled under the rail on the starboard side of the ship. Jack hurried across to his friend, and discovered with a jolt that the man lying on the deck, motionless, was Captain Flint.  
  
"Bloody hell, Bill - what happened?"  
  
"He was goin' to board, and got himself shot, the daft idiot," Bill said, his hands covered in blood. He was holding a wad of cloth to Flint's chest, but it was already damp and red.  
  
Jack bent over his captain. "Captain? Captain, wake up. Anyone got any rum?"  
  
"It's all below," Bootstrap said. "There's worse, Jack."  
  
"What?" Jack was tearing off his waistcoat to use as a bandage.  
  
"Pin," said Bill.  
  
Jack looked round, and saw that one of the older pirates was at the helm, a crumpled figure next to him on the deck. "Dead?" he asked.  
  
"Shot to the head," Bill confirmed. "Jack ..."  
  
"I know," Jack said, nodding. He took a deep breath. "Keep holding that there, Bill. Don't let him go."  
  
"I won't."  
  
"Good." Jack stood up, risked a brief look at the merchant ship, and saw that a man was still standing with a musket on the foredeck, aiming at the _Black Pearl_. There did not seem to be any pirates left on the other vessel; evidently they had all retreated at Bill's call.  
  
Looking up, Jack saw that none of the bullets had hit the _Pearl_'s sails, and that some of the men were already aloft. "All right, you dogs!" he called. "Lower topsails, hoist the jib, let's take her away. Going west, Dick!" he added, to the helmsman.  
  
With all the crew pulling together, the sails caught the wind. The ship turned, picked up speed and was soon pulling away from the merchant vessel. One last shot came from their enemy, and then they were out of range.  
  
Jack hurried back to Captain Flint. Bootstrap was still pressing on the captain's wound, but he looked up and shook his head as Jack approached.  
  
"It's too bad, Jack."  
  
Squatting down by the captain's side, Jack took a limp hand in his. "Captain? Captain?"  
  
Flint's eyes flickered, and opened. "Jack?"  
  
"S'me, cap'n."  
  
"Is the _Pearl_ ... how is she?"  
  
"She's fine," Jack reassured Flint. "Fine."  
  
"Pin?"  
  
Jack squeezed the captain's hand. "Not fine. He's gone, Captain."  
  
"Well," Flint said, and coughed, bringing up blood, "at least he'll be waiting for me."  
  
"You can't say that, savvy?" Jack said, insistent. "Just hang on."  
  
"I'm done for, Jack," Flint said. His skin was pale and greyish, and his grip on Jack's hand failing. "It's been a good life, I've no regrets." He coughed again. "The _Black Pearl_'s yours, lad." Jack found he had no words, and squeezed the captain's hand again. "Captain ... Jack Sparrow ... sounds good, don't it?" Flint laughed, weakly. "Look after the old lady."  
  
"I will," Jack said, forcing the words out. "Promise. I'll look after her."  
  
Flint smiled, and his eyes closed. A moment later he exhaled, and breathed no more. 


	26. Chapter 26

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** I'm overwhelmed at the expressions of sadness for Flint's death! I had no idea he was so popular. Thank you all. As you see, this ain't over yet, but the end is nearer than it was. Enjoy._  
  
----  
  
"We commit the body of our captain, Charles Flint, to the ocean he sailed for so many years," Jack said. "And the body of John Pin, first mate of this vessel. May they be forgiven for their many sins, and rest in peace." He nodded, and the two corpses, weighted down with cannonballs, splashed into the water below the _Black Pearl_ and sank, slowly.  
  
There was silence, as the crew watched the bodies disappear. Jack put his hat back on, and turned to the men.  
  
"Before we broach a barrel o' rum, I'd like to have a word with you all," he said, climbing up a step towards the helm so he could see the entire crew. They watched him, thirty pairs of eyes, showing doubt and mistrust, fatigue and grief. Bootstrap gave him a reassuring grin. "Afore old Flint died," Jack began, "he gave me the _Pearl_, and named me captain. I see, looking at you, most of you aren't happy. Captain Flint was a good man, and a good pirate. But you reckon he made a mistake naming me - you think I'm too young." There was a muttering amongst some of the crew. Jack sent a look in their direction. "Some of you," he said, "think I'm daft. But like it or not, I'm captain of this ship now. You don't like it, the way off is over there." He waved a hand towards the open sea. "Swim to shore, take a dip, brave the sharks and the waves."  
  
One of the pirates snorted, audibly. "Lad wouldn't do that," he said, to his neighbour.  
  
Jack drew his sword, and it rasped out of the sheath and shone in the sun. "You've no idea what I'd do and what I wouldn't," he told the pirate. "Fancy finding out?" He turned the sword, the blade glinting.  
  
The other man grunted something, and looked down at the deck. Jack smiled. "Good. Now, gentlemen, the rules of this ship remain the same as they ever were. No killing without reason, no ravishing of a lass who doesn't want to be ravished. Equal shares of any spoil, equal shares of work aboard. You'll all remain on the same watches. Mr Turner?"  
  
Bootstrap looked up. "Aye, sir?"  
  
"You'll be first mate and in command of the starboard watch. Mr Welsh?"  
  
The pirate who had taken the helm immediately following Belaying Pin's death stepped forward. "Yes, cap'n?"  
  
"Second mate, port watch. Starboard watch is on now until," Jack looked up at the sun and made a quick mental calculation, "four bells. We sail west, and we're putting in at Guadeloupe."  
  
"Guadeloupe it is, cap'n," Bootstrap returned, smartly, going to the helm.  
  
Jack swept his crew with his eyes. "One more thing. If we catch sight of that merchant ship, I want to know. Immediately. And the rule on killing is relaxed for them." He slid his sword into the sheath at his side, and paused, a hand in the air. "And one other thing. No more 'lad', no more 'Jack'. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy? Now, let's open that rum and toast Cap'n Flint and the Belaying Pin."  
  
Someone disappeared below, and returned with a barrel and some cups from the galley, and soon those pirates not otherwise occupied were busy drinking. Jack watched for a few minutes, and then went up to the helm.  
  
Bootstrap, one eye on the compass, glanced at him. "Well done," he said softly. "You won 'em over."  
  
"Most of them," Jack agreed, hoping that his friend was right. "I didn't reckon this was going to happen so soon, Bill. Always knew it would happen, one day or t'other - the _Pearl_ an' me, we were meant for each other - but not this quick."  
  
"No time for regrets," Bootstrap pointed out. "Captain died doing what he loved, and he knew you'd take care of his ship. Now you've got to do it as best you can, keep that promise you made to him."  
  
Jack managed a smile. "Ah, William, mate, he should've named you captain."  
  
"He knew what he was doing," Bootstrap countered. "As you know well." He cast a longing look towards the rum. "You going to go and get a drink?"  
  
"No." Jack shook his head. "Go on. I'll take the helm."  
  
Bill handed over the compass. "Thanks." He paused. "And thanks for making me mate - I won't let you down, Captain Sparrow."  
  
Jack touched his hat in salute, and Bootstrap went in search of rum.  
  
Moving to the helm, Jack curled his fingers around the spokes of the wheel, feeling the power of the ship running through him. Gently, he turned the wheel a fraction to the left, and the _Black Pearl_ responded, her timbers creaking as she shifted in the water. The jib boom swung to the side, and the sails went limp as they lost the wind. Jack smiled, and adjusted back on to the original course, west for Guadeloupe. The sails filled again, and the ship picked up speed.  
  
"That's it, lass," Jack murmured. "Behave now for old Jack, won't you? It's you and me, from here on."  
  
He stayed at the helm until old Dick Welsh arrived for the beginning of his watch and took over. Jack told him to keep a course for Guadeloupe, and received a hearty, "Aye, aye, cap'n!" in return.  
  
Jack passed the men on the main deck, still toasting their fallen leader and singing shanties off-key. Bootstrap looked up as he passed. "Rum?" he suggested, bleary-eyed.  
  
Taking the proffered bottle, Jack swigged down a gulp. "To Captain Flint," he said.  
  
"Skinflint!" came back the chorus. Jack passed the bottle back to Bootstrap, and bowing slightly to the men, disappeared below.  
  
He stopped first in the foc'sle, to collect his hammock and other belongings, and then made his way to the stern of the ship.  
  
The door of the captain's cabin was closed, and Jack paused before pushing it open. It felt wrong, going in without a summons from Flint, particularly as nothing inside had been touched. A coat was thrown haphazardly over a chair, and the blanket on the narrow bed was pushed back rather than folded neatly.  
  
Jack put his own things on the floor, and stood hands on hips to survey the cabin. It was, to his eyes, huge. Dominated by the mahogany table, there were also five glazed windows, three looking out over the stern and one on each side of the ship. A lantern swung, unlit, in front of the middle window. Dotted around the cabin - hanging from the ceiling, and on walls, and placed on the floor or on shelves - was an assortment of objects from all over the world. Inca totems mingled with African pottery, paintings of the English countryside with Indonesian silverware. Jack found tinder and flint and lit the lantern, and prowled around the cabin to examine the decorations. He touched a few of them, and picked the odd vase or bowl up to look at it closer, but he moved nothing.  
  
In the corner, behind a tattered curtain, Captain Flint's spare shirts and breeches were folded on a couple of shelves. Flint had been a much taller, broader man than Jack, and so now Jack took the clothes off the shelves and put them in a pile, to be disposed of later. In their place, he put his own spare clothes.  
  
Now he turned his attention to the table, and the piles of books and parchments on it. There was a log, of where they had sailed and the ships they had looted; charts covering the Caribbean, the Latin American coast, and the East Indies; as well as an assortment of collected essays and some plays in English, Spanish and French. Jack pulled out a chair, and sat down to examine the documents.  
  
Three hours later, with the lantern on the table to light the pages, he was still reading. He had put his feet up on the table, and was slowly working through the captain's log, lips moving as he made out the words.  
  
Finally, Jack reached the end of the log; the last page with anything written on it. After that, the leaves were blank. He brought his feet down off the table, and got up to search the cabin for a quill and some ink. They were on a shelf by the bed, and Jack brought them to the table, and sat down again. Pulling the chair in, he dipped the quill in the ink, thought for a moment, and laboriously set to writing.  
  
It took him an hour to complete the entry, and he finished with ink liberally splotched over face and hands, but the words were down on the page. A faithful account of the day's events, and their current course and destination.  
  
Jack left the log open so that the ink could dry, and slowly stood up. His fingers ached from writing, his eyes from squinting at the page. He hung the lantern on its hook by the window, where it swung gently with the movement of the ship, and took off his headscarf and sash and boots, piling them by the bunk.  
  
He blew out the lantern, and stood still for a few moments in the dark. His feet easily found their balance as the _Black Pearl_ tipped from side to side in the waves under her keel, and he listened to the sound of the ship, forging through the water.  
  
A yawn caught him out, and Jack found his blanket, felt his way to the bunk in the dark, and wrapping himself in the blanket, fell instantly into a deep sleep. 


	27. Chapter 27

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_  
  
----  
  
They had a quick and easy run to Guadeloupe, and put in at Pointe à Pitre to restock on supplies. For the first time, Jack did not have to go ashore to see to the shopping; instead he entrusted Bootstrap Bill with some coins, and stayed aboard the _Black Pearl_. It was his first time alone on the ship since he had become her captain, and once the boats had bobbed across the harbour to land, he took the opportunity to walk the length of the _Pearl_, revelling in the fact that she was his. He tided up some stray coils of rope, caressed the rail, and murmured endearments to the ship. Finally, he left his boots by the bottom of the mainmast, and climbed the rigging to the top, where he sat gazing down at the harbour.  
  
After a while, Jack noticed that one of the _Pearl_'s boats was coming back, and reluctantly he descended to the deck and was pulling on his boots as the men boarded the vessel.  
  
They had the first batch of supplies, and unloaded them speedily under Jack's direction, but then hung around twisting hats in hand and looking awkward.  
  
Jack watched them for a few minutes, and when it was obvious none of the pirates would speak, he decided to put them out of their misery. "Got a problem, gents?"  
  
The five men exchanged glances, and then one of them - the name he went by was Rock - spoke up. "Aye, we have."  
  
"Well?" Jack nodded, encouragingly.  
  
"S'like this, J ... captain," Rock said. "We signed up for this vessel on the understanding it were old Flint who was leading it."  
  
"As did I," Jack returned, with a pang at the thought of Flint.  
  
"Well," Rock continued, examining the deck below his feet, "Flint ain't here no more. And we reckoned as how, if summat happened to him, he'd pass on the ship to ... well, to someone ..."  
  
"Not to you," one of Rock's companions put in.  
  
"Mmmm." Jack rested his left elbow in his right hand, and his chin in his left hand. "I see."  
  
"It's not like we don't reckon you're a good cap'n," Rock went on, hesitantly.  
  
"Ah, but it is that you reckon I'm not a good captain," Jack said. "Else, you wouldn't be asking to leave the ship, would you?" Rock and his companions shifted uncomfortably under Jack's dark-rimmed gaze. "Well?" Jack pursued.  
  
"Aye, we'd like to leave," admitted Rock, after another lengthy pause.  
  
"With our share of profits," another man added.  
  
"Then you shall leave, with your shares," Jack said. "Understand this, gentlemen - I don't want any man on my ship who ain't prepared to give his all for me and the rest o' the crew. Now if you'll follow me down to my cabin, I'll give you your coins and you can be on your ways - savvy?"  
  
Silently, Rock and the other pirates followed him, and watched as Jack opened the money chest and counted out their earnings. He gave them each the small pile of gold, and they stowed the money away in pockets and pouches.  
  
"Now," Jack said, "you're welcome to leave the ship. Good luck to you."  
  
They filed back on deck, Jack trailing them, and he watched as they climbed into the longboat and unshipped the oars.  
  
Later on, Bootstrap returned with two more boats of supplies and the rest of the crew. Jack was sitting on the steps leading to the helm, sharpening his sword thoughtfully, but he looked up as his mate and friend approached.  
  
"Got everything I asked for?"  
  
"Aye, sir," Bill replied, briskly. "And change." He passed over the moneybag, distinctly lighter now but not empty, before sitting down next to Jack. "Saw Rock in town," he said, lowering his voice. "And some o' his cronies."  
  
"They left us," Jack said, running his whetstone along the edge of his blade. "I paid 'em and they left."  
  
"Reckon we can sail this thing with 23 men?" Bootstrap asked.  
  
"Easy," said Jack, glibly. "Give 'em more to do, less sitting around drinking rum." He grinned at Bootstrap, and stood up, sliding his sword into its sheath as he did so. "Right, you dogs!" he called, and the crew looked up. "You've one evening here, to do with as you will - spend it with a lass, spend it with a bottle. But I want you all back on board tomorrow morning. We're sailing out of here, and we're going after that merchant that took Flint from us."  
  
The quest to find the merchant ship was somewhat hampered by the fact that nobody, from Jack down to the cabin boy, could remember the vessel's name. But they did remember that it was a small brigantine, heading west, and accordingly Jack ordered that they visit the main ports in the immediate area, before going in the direction of Jamaica and Cuba. On the way, they attacked two other merchants, and escaped clean with a good haul. But their quarry was not docked in the Windwards, and so they set off towards the larger islands in the Caribbean Sea.  
  
Two days distant of Havana, the lookout called down that a ship was on the horizon. Jack took the ship's telescope up to the top of the mainmast to see for himself, and agreed that they had found their prey. He ordered more canvas, as the wind was good, and they began to gain.  
  
Before the afternoon was old, they were visibly catching up with the merchant. The cabin boy ran the Jolly Roger flag from the stern, and the grinning skull streamed out behind the _Black Pearl_, and the pirates loaded the cannon with shot and armed themselves.  
  
Jack went down to his cabin and carefully dressed in his best clothes - waistcoat, clean shirt and coat, with his hat on and sword at his waist. He peered into a grimy mirror, reapplied the kohl around his eyes, and then grinned at his reflection before going back on deck.  
  
Throughout the afternoon, they gained ground. Jack paced the deck, constantly looking through the telescope at the other ship. It too had piled on canvas, but despite this the _Black Pearl_ was faster.  
  
As they got closer, Jack called the crew together and outlined his plan for them. They listened, nodded, and went off to their positions when dismissed. Joining Bootstrap at the helm, Jack fiddled with his rings, and fidgeted from side to side.  
  
"Stand still!" Bill said, after a while, squinting ahead at the merchant ship.  
  
"Can't," said Jack. "And I won't."  
  
"Then stop distracting me," Bill said, turning the wheel slightly to catch better wind. "Captain."  
  
Finally, eventually, they were within range of the merchant ship. Now, Jack could read her name: the _Silver Moon_. He took a deep breath, drew his sword, and called the order to fire the cannon.  
  
The first shot went wide, but the second was true, hitting the merchant vessel on her port side. She shuddered, and swung around. Calling to fire again, Jack told Bootstrap at the helm to heave to as they came alongside the _Silver Moon_.  
  
On the poop deck of the other ship, he could see the man with the musket who had fired the fatal shots that killed Captain Flint and Belaying Pin. Already, he was readying his musket to shoot; but this time Jack and his crew knew the risk. Jack pushed his hat down on his head so it would stay on, and cleared his throat.  
  
"Grappling irons!" he called. Ten men picked up the hooked ropes, and threw them accurately to catch on the rail of the other ship. "Board her! Take what you can!" Jack ordered, and pirates went flying through the air to land on the opposite deck. Taking hold of a shroud he had earmarked earlier, Jack gripped his sword and launched himself off the rail of the _Pearl_.  
  
He landed securely and solidly on the poop deck, and turned. "'Scuse me!" he said, moving forward and prodding the musketeer in the back with the point of his sword.  
  
The man spun on one foot, aiming the musket clear in Jack's face.  
  
"Too close, mate," Jack said. "I'd move before you could pull the trigger."  
  
His opponent's finger tightened on the trigger. "You think?" he said. His voice was low and husky, tinged with a Spanish accent.  
  
"You killed my captain," Jack responded.  
  
"You attacked our ship," the musketeer said.  
  
"But we wouldn't have killed you," Jack pointed out, waving his sword in the other man's face.  
  
"So I should take your word on that?" the man asked.  
  
"Going to fire that thing?" Jack returned, watching his opponent's trigger finger.  
  
It twitched, and tightened, and the musket went off with a deafening bang; but Jack had ducked and brought his sword arm up, using the hilt to knock the musket out of the other man's hands. It went skidding across the deck.  
  
Jack's opponent was now weaponless. He carried no sword, and apparently no knife, and with his musket gone his demeanour changed entirely. Hands up, he backed up to the rail of his ship.  
  
"I can't shoot you now," he pointed out, voice quavering a little.  
  
"But you would again, if you got your hands on that musket," Jack said, tautly. His sword was not wobbling now, instead dead steady against the man's neck. He fixed his gaze on the musketeer. "Wouldn't you?"  
  
"Yes ... yes, I would!" the man said. "You are pirates, you deserve death."  
  
"Captain Flint," Jack replied, "was a good man. A decent man. Never hurt a soul without due cause. Didn't pretend to be anything he wasn't. He did not deserve to die like that."  
  
The other man laughed, weakly. "Does it make a difference how he died?" he said.  
  
"Matters to me," Jack said. "Matters to my crew. Know this, mate - you signed your own death warrant when you fired that shot."  
  
The man's face was a sickly pale colour now, and his hand shook as he held it out in supplication. "Might I ... might I know the name of my executioner?"  
  
"It's Jack Sparrow," said Jack. "Captain Jack Sparrow."  
  
"Then make it quick," the man said, "Captain Sparrow."  
  
Jack nodded, without smiling. "I will."  
  
He tightened his fingers on the hilt of his sword, and pulled it away from the man's neck before driving it back, hard, into his chest. Blade met flesh with a sickening squelch, an expression of surprise crossed the musketeer's face, and he slumped to the deck even as Jack pulled the sword out.  
  
Jack bent, and wiped his blade on the dead man's coat. "That's for Flint," he said, and turned away. 


	28. Chapter 28

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** Zwarte Perel said in her last review "I wonder if Barbossa will be along soon". Now, I wasn't going to bring him in for another couple of chapters, but then once the suggestion had been made, I realised it did make sense for him to come in now. So here he is; thanks, Zwarte!_  
  
----  
  
"Ahoy there! Ahoy!"  
  
Jack took his telescope from his sash and put his eye to it, pointing it towards the source of the shouts.  
  
"Ahoy!"  
  
"What is it, cap'n?" Dick Welsh asked.  
  
Squinting, Jack frowned. "Shipwreck. Men on shore ... _lot_ of wreckage." He closed the telescope. "Seems someone wasn't as lucky as us in that storm the other night."  
  
"We do seem to have uncommon luck," Welsh mused. "What'll you do, cap'n?"  
  
"Take her in," Jack ordered. "We'll pick 'em up." He turned, and called to the nearest man. "I want depth sounding, mate."  
  
The crew member nodded, and went to fetch the heavy lead weight on the end of a rope that measured the depth of the water.  
  
They lowered the topsails and crept into shore, the short journey punctuated by the soundings: "Fifteen fathom! Eleven! Nine!" At five fathoms, Jack ordered the anchor to be released, and it rattled into the water. The _Black Pearl_ came to a halt.  
  
The boats were lowered, and rowed to shore. Jack went with one of them, keen to see the shipwrecked mariners up close before he allowed them on board his ship.  
  
All along the beach there were bits of timber, once part of a vessel, now mere driftwood. The ship had obviously been dashed on the shoals further out, which the smaller longboats from the _Pearl_ had negotiated easily, before the remains had been washed ashore. Jack shook his head in sorrow as he looked at the pieces; a once graceful vessel reduced to planks.  
  
They pulled the boats up near the shipwrecked men, who had stood up to greet their rescuers. It was clear that they were neither naval men nor merchants - this was a ragtag group. Their clothes were well worn and their beards long and shaggy. Gold teeth gleamed as they smiled at the crew of the _Pearl_ in relief.  
  
"We be right glad to see you," the group's leader said. Standing to the forefront of the dozen or so men, he was taller than most, and sported a frizzy beard just beginning to go grey. "Saw a couple of other vessels pass by, but we didn't dare hail them for fear we'd be taken aboard and strung up."  
  
"Of the buccaneer persuasion?" Jack asked, though it was obvious.  
  
"Aye, we are," the leader said. He held out a hand. "Barbossa. Mate of the _Endurance_."  
  
"That'd be the bonny ship scattered over this beach, would it?" Jack said.  
  
Barbossa shrugged. "Aye, it would."  
  
"And your captain?"  
  
"Got washed overboard in the storm." The man who spoke was a tall, imposing black man covered in tattoos, his chest bare. He loomed over Jack, who leaned back to see his face, grinned at him, and stepped back.  
  
"So you're the leader of this merry band, Barbossa?" he asked. "Looking for a way off this island, I guess?"  
  
"You'd guess right," Barbossa replied. "Especially if you're bound for Tortuga."  
  
"We'll take you," Jack said. "As far as Tortuga. You'll work your passage. Could maybe take a few men on after that, if you're looking for a ship, but not all of you."  
  
"Your captain knows you're saying this, does he?" asked Barbossa, tipping his head on one side.  
  
The men from the _Pearl_ exchanged glances.  
  
"Absolutely," said Jack, hand waving vaguely in the air. "We're of one mind, he and me. Are the terms agreeable?"  
  
"They are," Barbossa said, looking round at the other shipwrecked pirates, and receiving their nods, shaking Jack's hand.  
  
They rowed back to the _Black Pearl_, and the new sailors came aboard, looking over the ship with interest.  
  
"Black sails, eh?" said Barbossa, gazing upwards.  
  
"She's not called the _Black Pearl_ for nothing," Jack returned. "There are spare hammocks below, if you want to stow your stuff."  
  
Barbossa threw Jack a curious look, but followed Dick Welsh below decks. Jack turned to Bootstrap Bill. "We're taking them to Tortuga. When they come back up, tell 'em the captain wants to see them."  
  
"All of them?" asked Bootstrap. Jack was already walking away, and he looked over his shoulder, and tossed back:  
  
"Just their leader ... Barbed Toast, or whatever he calls himself."  
  
"Aye, sir!" Bill called.  
  
Going down to his cabin, and flinging open one of the windows, Jack settled down to writing up the ship's log. He had covered many pages since becoming captain two years earlier, and though they were splodged with ink and the spelling left something to be desired, the accounts made for interesting reading.  
  
There was a knock on the door, and Jack put down his quill. "Come in!" he said.  
  
The door swung open, and Barbossa stepped into the cabin. For a moment, a flash of surprise crossed his face on seeing Jack, but he mastered himself quickly and closed the door before standing with his hands behind his back.  
  
"So you're the elusive captain, are you?" he said.  
  
Jack closed the log, and stood up. "Aye. Captain Jack Sparrow, that's me. Found your quarters satisfactory, Mr Barbossa?"  
  
"Perfectly, thank'ee," said Barbossa. "Just Barbossa."  
  
Waving a hand, Jack sat down again. "Have a seat, Just Barbossa."  
  
Barbossa pulled out a chair and sat down, while Jack reached for a banana from the bowl in the centre of the table, and peeled it slowly. Taking a bite, he gestured vaguely towards Barbossa with the fruit.  
  
"So, the _Endurance_," he said. "Been aboard her long?"  
  
"Five year or so," Barbossa replied. "Good ship."  
  
"And you were, what? First mate?"  
  
"Aye."  
  
"Well," said Jack, swallowing a mouthful of banana and throwing the empty skin accurately out of the open window, "I've got a good couple o' mates and aren't looking for another. So you'll have to be a simple crewman aboard the _Black Pearl_, savvy?"  
  
"Simple pirate it is," Barbossa drawled. Jack wondered why a man with such an unusual name had such a strong West Country accent, but then considered that he himself no longer appeared English, and put the incongruities down to a life at sea.  
  
"Simple pirate," he agreed, and opened the log at the page he was writing. "If you could just inscribe your name on behalf of your men - ship's articles and so forth ..." He handed Barbossa the quill, and the other man signed, messily, underneath his name and the name of the wrecked _Endurance_.  
  
Over the next week, as the _Black Pearl_ beat her way towards Tortuga, Barbossa and his men made themselves useful aboard the ship. They were willing and able to fulfil all the tasks set to them, and indeed were invaluable when the ship hit another storm. With the extra men, the crew were able to reef all the sails in double-quick time, and the _Pearl_ came out undamaged.  
  
But Jack found himself not entirely trusting the shipwrecked pirates. Barbossa himself was polite and efficient and respectful, but some of his crewmates were less so. They looked askance at Jack, and barely spoke to the crew of the _Pearl_. Jack did not mind the odd looks - after all, by now he was used to people giving him curious glances - but he did mind affronts to his men. But when he voiced his concerns to Bootstrap, Bill Turner merely shrugged.  
  
"Two crews bashed together, Jack. They're not going to make a whole, just like that."  
  
"They could try to be friendly, at least," Jack said, trimming his nails with a dagger.  
  
Bootstrap shook his head. "They're leavin' at Tortuga. Few days, we'll be rid of them. Don't let it worry you, Jack - t'ain't worrying the men."  
  
He downed his cup of rum, and giving Jack a friendly grin, left the cabin.  
  
Despite Bill's reassurance, Jack was glad to see the back of the extra men in Tortuga. He did not offer any of them a permanent berth on board the _Black Pearl_. But he did shake hands with Barbossa, and reckoned that should he need an experienced sailor in the future, he would know where to go.  
  
They spent several days on the island. The vessel needed some minor repairs, and the men a rest, and there were more storms brewing. Jack, as usual, slept on board his beloved ship, while the men spent their time and their money in the town's taverns.  
  
During the day, he supervised the repairs, and traded off some of the _Black Pearl_'s hoard of loot. He saw Barbossa and some of his fellows sail off in the direction of the mainland. The time in harbour sped by, occupied as he was.  
  
On the penultimate day in Tortuga, two things happened.  
  
The first was at about ten in the morning. Jack was counting barrels of salt fish and cases of biscuits in the hold, when footsteps sounded on the steps, and Bootstrap appeared.  
  
"Got to talk to you," he said. In his hand was a sheet of paper.  
  
They went up on deck, where Bill paced and Jack leaned on the rail.  
  
"Well?" said Jack.  
  
"I got a letter from England," Bootstrap began, holding the sheet of paper up. "Dunno how it got to me - bloody miracle, if you ask my opinion - but I have to go home. Elsie's ill, and there's nobody to look after ..." he paused, and dragged a sleeve end over his eyes, "to look after me son. I have a son, Jack."  
  
"Lad got a name?"  
  
"Elsie called him after me. Little Will, she calls him, but he's William Turner like his dad. And I've never seen him. More'n five years away, and I've not seen my son. And I wanted to be a decent father to the lad, an' a good husband to Elsie. I've got to go home, Jack."  
  
Jack nodded. "I suppose you do. I'm sorry, Bill. You'll come back, when you're ready. Always a place for you aboard the old _Pearl_, savvy?"  
  
"Savvy." Bill smiled, ruefully. "Well, there's a ship bound for England this afternoon. I'd better go." He tucked his letter into a pocket. "Been a pleasure serving under you, Captain Sparrow."  
  
"Pleasure having you aboard, Mr Turner," Jack replied in like fashion.  
  
They shook hands, and Bill hurried down the gangplank and away. Jack turned morosely back to counting supplies.  
  
But the afternoon brought better news. By this stage, Jack was halfway up the mainmast checking rigging, and so absorbed in the lines and canvas that he failed to notice the new arrival on the deck below him. He did, however, hear the call from the bottom of the mast, and was down the rigging in record time.  
  
The figure waiting for him, in shirt, breeches and hat, was almost unrecognisable. But it took off the hat, shaking out a mane of black hair, and smiled nervously at Jack.  
  
"Welcome aboard, Anamaria," Jack said.  
  
She twisted the hat in her hands. "I heard you were back."  
  
"As you see." He gestured, grandly. "As lovely as ever, ain't she?"  
  
Anamaria fidgeted. Jack examined her, and privately decided that his former crewmate was decidedly more lovely than ever. The girl had become a woman; her figure had filled out and her features matured. A smile crossed Jack's lips as he looked her up and down, and Anamaria folded her arms across her chest defensively.  
  
"Don't look at me like that, Jack Sparrow."  
  
"Like what, love?"  
  
She shook her head in exasperation. "You have not changed."  
  
"Would you want me to?"  
  
"No," she admitted. She put her hat back on her head. "I heard ... that Captain Flint was killed."  
  
"Aye." Jack nodded. "Got revenge on the culprit, but we miss him sore."  
  
"And I heard that you were captain, now," Anamaria continued. "True?"  
  
"True," he confirmed. "Captain Jack Sparrow, of the fair ship the _Black Pearl_."  
  
"Then, captain," Anamaria said, "I'd like to ask to join your crew. I'm a good sailor."  
  
"Should be," said Jack, "as I taught you half o' what you know. Happens I have a space, and I'd be pleased if you'd take it."  
  
She smiled, properly this time. "Thank you, Jack."  
  
"It's Captain Jack Sparrow, love," he reminded her.  
  
"Thank you, captain," Anamaria repeated.  
  
Jack grinned, and led her down to the captain's cabin to sign the ship's articles. 


	29. Chapter 29

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** Date and age check: this chapter is set in early 1673, about eighteen months after the events of the previous chapter. Jack is now 29 and has been captain of the _Pearl_ for nearly four years. Will Turner is, at this point, nearly nine.  
  
And thanks to Zwarte Perel for advice on historical etiquette!_  
  
----  
  
"Remind me why we're here?" Jack said, as the anchor chain rattled down. The rain was bouncing off his hat, and the scuppers were running with water. The crew looked miserable, and the _Black Pearl_ tired and battered after her journey across the Atlantic.  
  
"Because you wanted to come," Anamaria pointed out, her hair twisted up under her headscarf, and her coat drenched. She took her hands off the helm, and put them in her pockets.  
  
"Did I?" Jack took off his hat, tipped the water out of the brim, and put it back on. "Bloody England."  
  
"The men look happy," Anamaria observed, and then clarified her statement. "Most of them."  
  
Jack looked over his ship, and saw she was right. The Englishmen on the crew were indeed smiling, content to be safe in Portsmouth harbour. Everyone else looked as morose as he felt, under the rain and the grey skies.  
  
He sighed, and gave a shout to call his men together. "Welcome to England, gentlemen! We've two weeks here. You've all got your winnin's, here in old Portsmouth is the place to spend 'em."  
  
"So long as it stops raining," their Spanish cook muttered.  
  
"With you there, Juán," Jack said, devoutly. He swept the crew with his eyes. "But remember, mates, we're merchants."  
  
They looked at each other; a motley crew of men with straggly beards, a variety of torn and filthy clothing, and deadly cutlasses strapped to their waists. Anamaria frowned.  
  
"Merchants?" she said.  
  
"It's worked for me before," Jack pointed out, and twenty pairs of eyes shifted to their captain. As outlandish as ever, he stood with hand on hip, the other resting on the rail by his side. By now, his hair was thick with beads, and gold glinted in his mouth when he smiled (the result of a run-in with a Portuguese man o' war six months earlier). Nobody could mistake Jack Sparrow for anything other than a particularly exotic species of pirate. "Just a case of being convincing," he pursued, "and of not mentioning ..." he waved a hand, "certain activities. The ship'll be anchored here should you wish to remain aboard. Questions, you know where to come."  
  
The pirates dispersed, in small groups, and shortly the first boats were lowered and paddled away across the harbour. They disappeared quickly into a damp haze.  
  
Jack went down to his cabin and changed out of his wet clothes into some dry breeches and a shirt, and settled to write the log and decide what goods he wanted to get rid of. The _Black Pearl_'s hold was full with gold and textiles and even a cache of weapons, all taken from merchant ships on the voyage across the Atlantic. It had been a rich and rewarding journey, with good skirmishes and no lives lost. But Jack, pushing damp hair off his face, wondered now why he had decided to come east in the first place.  
  
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, with pickings in the Caribbean uncharacteristically thin, and several of the men voicing wishes to go home and see family. Jack had decided that he would take them there himself, attack some ships on the way, and ... he admitted to himself that there the arguments ran thin. He no longer had any connections in Portsmouth, save Bootstrap Bill Turner, and _he_ had another life apart from the _Pearl_. But his mates, Dick Welsh and a gruff Scotsman named Bobbie MacPherson, were keen to go ahead with the plan, and accordingly they had sailed.  
  
A large drop of water ran off his hair and landed on the logbook. Cursing to himself, Jack reached for a strip of leather and tied the bulk of it back, where it dripped peaceably down his back instead.  
  
There was a knock on the door, and Anamaria poked her head round it. "You will have to row yourself if you want to go ashore tonight," she said. "The rest of the men are going now."  
  
"You too?" Jack asked.  
  
"Hot meal and a glass of ale," Anamaria said. "Not going to turn that down, am I?"  
  
"Go!" said Jack, gesturing. "Go, go."  
  
She shook her head at him, and went.  
  
Jack went ashore the next day, with samples of some of their booty tucked into a pocket. He had only vague ideas of where to sell the goods, and planned to sound out the local merchants in a tavern or two.  
  
In the first inn he tried, a seedy establishment in a back street, he mentioned his quest casually to the barman, before settling down with a tankard of ale at a table. After a slow half-hour nursing the drink, nobody had approached him, and so he moved on. At the second tavern - Flint's old haunt, the "Anchor and Chain", he had more luck. The first person to come up to him and slide into a seat opposite him was an old, weathered, intelligent-looking man in a blue serge coat.  
  
"Hear you have stuff to sell."  
  
Jack put his tankard down, and nodded. "Aye."  
  
The man folded his hands in front of him. "Hear too that you came in on the _Black Pearl_. What's happened to Charles Flint?"  
  
"Killed," said Jack, briefly. "Some four years back."  
  
"Pity," said the man. "Good man." He held out a hand. "Samuel Idle."  
  
"Jack Sparrow," Jack introduced himself, shaking Idle's hand. "Captain of the _Black Pearl_."  
  
Idle nodded. "Pleased to meet you, Captain Sparrow. Now, what do you have?"  
  
Pulling the samples out of his pocket, Jack spread them out on the table. He had brought a snippet of fine silk, an engraved Portuguese dagger, and some pieces of jewellery. The merchant leaned over and examined the items closely.  
  
"Nice."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Idle picked up the bit of silk, and fingered it. "I like this. How much have you got?"  
  
"Five fifty-yard lengths, different colours," Jack said. "Wrapped against salt damage."  
  
"How much are you asking?"  
  
"Twenty guineas a bale," Jack said.  
  
"Twelve."  
  
"Fifteen."  
  
"Fourteen."  
  
"Fifteen," Jack repeated.  
  
"I'll take three of them," Samuel Idle decided. "My warehouse is in King William Street. Bring the fabric there tomorrow." He touched the jewellery. "I'll have some of these necklaces also - just right for the wife."  
  
Jack offered a smile. "Agreed. Forty-six guineas the lot."  
  
"Done." The two men shook hands again. Idle stood up. "Pleasure doing business with you, Captain."  
  
"Mr Idle," Jack returned. The merchant put his hat on and slipped away.  
  
Jack drained his tankard, grinning to himself. That was a good proportion of his cargo disposed of in one easy transaction, and for a tidy sum.  
  
Shortly afterwards, another merchant came up and Jack was able to sell off most of the cache of weapons to him. With England still recovering after civil war, weapons were valuable - particularly good pistols. Jack promised to have the arms delivered the next day, and left the tavern satisfied with his day's business.  
  
It was mid-afternoon, now, and Portsmouth's streets were busy with people out shopping, talking, going about their everyday business. The rain had stopped and the sun was out, and Jack, sauntering along with his hands behind his back, almost felt for a moment as if he liked his home town.  
  
He had his eyes turned upwards to study the signs swinging above shops, and so failed completely to notice the slim figure examining a butcher's window. When he walked into her, she yelped and jumped back, a hand going to her breast. Jack moved backwards too, already apologising profusely and floridly.  
  
"Why," the woman said, interrupting him, "isn't it Jack Sparrow?"  
  
Jack looked at her sideways. She was an attractive woman, with dark hair in a tight bun underneath her bonnet, and she was still young though her brow showed lines of care. Her clothes were simple and sober and spotlessly clean, and she held a basket containing carefully wrapped parcels.  
  
"Might be," he hedged.  
  
"Elsie Turner," she said, with a little laugh. "We met once before, years ago."  
  
Recollection came flooding back, and Jack gave her a bow. "Mrs Turner, o' course. I don't know how I could have forgotten."  
  
"I expect you've had other things on your mind," she said.  
  
"You could say that, aye," he agreed. "How are you - and how's old William?"  
  
"Well," she said. "But come, Mr Sparrow, we cannot stand blocking this doorway like this. Will you join me for a turn by the harbour?"  
  
He did not correct the wrong title, and agreed to the walk. They set off together, Jack matching her pace and keeping a polite distance from her.  
  
"Bill talks about you, occasionally," Elsie Turner said, hooking her arm more comfortably under the handle of her basket. "He wonders how you are doing."  
  
"Not bad," Jack said. "I wonder about him, meself. Glad to know he got home safe, the other year."  
  
Elsie navigated a puddle. "I wished he had not been away so long."  
  
"Sometimes these things cannot be helped," Jack said, shrugging. "He missed you, and your lad."  
  
"Will?" Elsie smiled. "Little Will." She lost her smile. "It took him months to know his father, Mr Sparrow. A boy needs a father."  
  
"Least Bill cares about his son," Jack said. "I've no doubt he came away from you so as to support you better, Mrs Turner."  
  
She shrugged her thin shoulders. "Maybe. He certainly came back with plenty of riches. But riches are not everything, Mr Sparrow."  
  
Jack said nothing. Nearby, a clock struck four, and Elsie Turner started. "Goodness ... I must be going, Will will be back from school before I'm home if I don't hurry. I shall tell Bill you are here."  
  
He had been hoping she would say this, and thanked her with palms together and a little bow. "Tell him the ship's anchored in her usual berth. He'll know where."  
  
She nodded, and turned away. "I will. Goodbye, Mr Sparrow." With a rustle of skirts, she was gone.  
  
"It's _Captain_ Sparrow!" Jack said, to the space where she had been.  
  
Over the next few days, Jack and his crew (when they could be roused from drinking in the town's taverns) delivered the goods and got their money. A merchant who put in an offer for some of the jewellery seemed inclined to back down, when they arrived with it, but the sight of three cutlass-wielding pirates behind Jack persuaded him he would be better to hand over his money.  
  
Three of the men came to see Jack during the week, and resigned their places on the ship. Jack had been expecting some crew losses, and paid them their wages cheerfully enough. Dick Welsh had made some noises about leaving, saying he was "gettin' too old for this lark", but when Jack mentioned heading back to the Caribbean via North Africa, Welsh nodded and agreed.  
  
They were now two nights away from leaving Portsmouth, with all their goods sold and all necessary repairs done. In accordance with Jack's instructions, the crew had kept a low profile and not got into any trouble - though Anamaria confided to her captain that the sight of so many Royal Navy vessels made her fingers itch for a blade and a confrontation.  
  
"Likewise, love," Jack said. "But Portsmouth's not the place for that." They were sitting on barrels on the main deck of the _Pearl_, watching the sun set over the town, passing a bottle of rum from hand to hand.  
  
The second mate, MacPherson, took the bottle from Jack. "Aye, but get some o' those Sassenachs out in clear water, and we'd gi' them a run for their money," he said.  
  
For a few moments, they sat in silent contemplation, all thinking of capturing some proud frigate and turning her pirate.  
  
"Beautiful," said Jack, to himself.  
  
Anamaria accepted the rum. "That skiff is coming our way," she pointed out, gesturing with the bottle.  
  
"You're right, lass," MacPherson said, getting to his feet and going to the side to get a better look at the little boat bobbing across to them. It was one of the rowing boats that could be hired, together with an oarsman, for a few pence, from the harbour. As Anamaria and Jack joined MacPherson at the rail, the boat's passenger stood up and waved a hat.  
  
"_Black Pearl_ ahoy!" he called, in ringing, familiar tones. "Permission to come aboard?"  
  
"Bootstrap!" said Jack. "Throw him a line, Ana." To the boat, he cried back: "Permission granted!"  
  
The little skiff pulled in alongside the _Pearl_, and Bill Turner paid off his oarsman before grabbing the line thrown him by Anamaria, and hauling himself up the side of the ship. MacPherson helped him over the rail.  
  
"Thanks, Bobbie," Bootstrap said. He glanced at Anamaria. "My, you've blossomed, love."  
  
She blushed furiously and scowled at the deck.  
  
"Lady wife remember I was here, then, did she?" Jack asked.  
  
"The day you met her," Bill said, with a touch of reproach in his tone. "It's taken me a week to work me notice and convince her we needed the extra cash. If you're willin', captain, I'd like to join your crew - again."  
  
"Seems to me you're forever coming and going," said Jack.  
  
Bootstrap shrugged. "You'd be within your rights to refuse me, Jack. 'Tis difficult to form a crew when people leave all the time. But I passed the other day on an errand, and the old _Pearl_ was there calling at me."  
  
"She does that." Jack patted the rail. "And what do Mrs and Master Turner have to say about this?"  
  
"Not happy," confessed Bill. "I reckon Elsie's worked out I'm no merchant sailor. But she'll say nothing, for the boy's sake. I've told her I'm sailing, and that's an end."  
  
"Then you shall sail," Jack said, more pleased than he let show.  
  
When the _Black Pearl_ hoisted her dark sails and glided out of Portsmouth harbour, two days later, standing on the wharf watching were two figures. One of them clutched the hand of the other, and both waved at the departing ship. From her stern, Bill Turner waved back, his eyes damp.  
  
Jack glanced once at his friend, and then turned his attention to the set of his sails and the passage out of the Solent towards open water. 


	30. Chapter 30

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_  
  
----  
  
"So we had a Spaniard on the port side and a Frenchman to starboard," Jack said, moving tankards around to illustrate the scene. "Both screaming insults at each other over our deck, and us caught in the middle."  
  
He paused, swallowed a mouthful of rum, and glanced round at his audience. On this evening, the tavern on the outskirts of Havana was full, and a large crowd of men (and some women) were listening rapt to Captain Jack Sparrow's latest tale of daring piracy.  
  
"We were stuck," Jack continued. "Couldn't go nowhere. They wanted each other, but they wanted us too. Only problem was their captains couldn't decide who they wanted more - t'other ship or the old _Pearl_. Then, I had me idea. Split up the crew, and take both vessels at once."  
  
"Impossible," opined one man.  
  
"Not so!" said Jack. "I took eight men, Bootstrap over there ..." he gestured across the room, to where Bootstrap was entertaining a couple of pretty girls, "took another seven, an' rest of the crew remained on board. We sneaked off the _Pearl_ over the stern, while our rival naval friends were shouting sweet nothin's at one another. Climbed aboard our chosen prey, and took both ships at once."  
  
There was silence. The listeners looked at each other, and back at Jack who was contentedly sipping rum.  
  
"Just like that?" someone said.  
  
"Just like that, mate," Jack replied, wiping his mouth.  
  
"Impossible," repeated the earlier naysayer. "T'ain't a man alive who could pull that off."  
  
"Ah, you forget one thing," Jack said, leaning over in a conspiratorial manner. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow ... savvy?"  
  
There was a chorus of laughter, and murmurs of appreciation at the story; and the audience began to disperse. Jack sat and cradled his drink, smiling to himself at the success of the tale. Most of it was true, although he had omitted to mention the bloody fights on board both the French and Spanish ships before they had surrendered to the crew of the _Black Pearl_.  
  
When all the crowd had gone, in search of more drink or girls or food, nobody was left in that corner of the room save Jack and an old black man with snowy white hair and an eye patch. He was leaning on a cane with a carved, knobbly top, and he was looking very hard at Jack.  
  
Jack nodded in a friendly fashion at him. "Evening, grandad."  
  
"You have luck," the old man said, his voice deep and resonant.  
  
Moving along the bench so he was a little closer to the old man, Jack lowered his voice a fraction. "Not so much as I claim, to be perfectly honest, mate."  
  
"You have luck," the old man insisted. "I see it. For long years I have been looking for one such as you."  
  
"Have you?"  
  
"One to search for treasure," said the old man.  
  
Jack's ears pricked up at the word "treasure".  
  
"Go on," he said, sliding a little closer to the other.  
  
"Near a hundred year ago," the old man began, "Columbus came to these parts; brought blood and death. Men followed him here from de Old World, men like Cortés. Dey killed and dey killed and dey took from them who had lived here long time. De natives, dey got angry."  
  
"Justifiably," said Jack.  
  
"Aye, indeed," the old man agreed. "But dey knew dat de Spanish, dey were stronger. So dey offered a treasure, to stop de killing. Near nine hundred pieces of gold."  
  
"Nine hundred gold pieces?" Jack's eyes gleamed. "That'd be a rare prize, for any man. Could give the old girl an overhaul with that. Send Bootstrap home with enough to keep his lady wife in luxury the rest of her days. You know where it is?"  
  
The old man nodded, his face serious. "I know, capt'in. My father, he was a slave aboard Cortés' ship. He saw the place they left de treasure chest."  
  
"It's in a chest?" Jack checked.  
  
"Of stone," said the old man. "And de gold inside it, 882 pieces. De Aztecs told Cortés dey had paid, and he stopped killing. But ..."  
  
"There's always a but, ain't there?" Jack said. "Go on."  
  
"It was cursed," the old man told him. "Any man who took one of dem pieces would be cursed, punished, forever. So Cortés buried de chest on an island you cannot find if you do not know where it be. Isla de Muerte."  
  
Jack held up a hand. "Wait just a moment there, grandad. You say the treasure's hidden on an island you cannot find, and even if you could find it, there's a curse?"  
  
"Dat's right," the old man said.  
  
Gulping down rum, Jack laughed, his gold teeth glinting in the firelight. "Nah, mate, I won't be believing that. I believe in gold. I believe in greed. I believe in freedom - I believe in me ship. But not curses and suchlike. There's an old seaman's belief that sailing with a lass brings bad luck - me, I've sailed with one more years than I haven't, and the _Black Pearl_'s the fastest and the luckiest ship in the Caribbean, savvy?"  
  
The old man clasped his hands on the top of his cane, and looked hard at Jack. "Dat's why I'm telling you this, capt'in. You have luck. Maybe you are the man to collect the treasure of Cortés."  
  
"So where is it?" Jack asked.  
  
Drawing a compass case from his pocket, the old man placed it on the table. "Open dat."  
  
Jack took the case and flipped it open, studying the compass inside. "Doesn't point north."  
  
"Sou'-sou'-east, from here," said the old man. "Straight to de Isla de Muerte. Only he who knows where it be can find it. Follow dat compass, Capt'in Sparrow, and you will find de island. Seven days sailing from here; ten from Isla de Tortuga - wherever you might be, follow de compass. It stands out of de sea, bare rock. On de island, there be a cave, and in de cave, de treasure of Cortés."  
  
Feeling in his coat pockets, Jack pulled out a tattered and stained chart. "Where on here, grandad?"  
  
The old man bent over the parchment, searching, and finally his thin forefinger landed on a speck in the sea, equidistant from Cuba, Jamaica, and the mainland coast. "Dere."  
  
"You're sure? You're certain?"  
  
"Sure and certain, capt'in."  
  
Jack found a knife from his belt and skewered the chart where the island was supposed to be, so that a distinct cross-shaped mark was left. "Thank you," he said, sincerely. "Not often treasure comes along so handy-like."  
  
"You have to find it first," the old man reminded him. "And den risk de curse. You are ready for that, Capt'in Sparrow?"  
  
Grinning, Jack nodded. "Always ready for anything, me, mate."  
  
"Be ready," the old man cautioned.  
  
Jack closed the compass and attached it to his sword belt by the cord hanging from the case. "Got you. Thanks." He looked down at the chart, memorised the position of the Isla de Muerte, and rolled up the parchment. When he looked up again, the old man had gone.  
  
Bootstrap was none too happy to be dragged out of the tavern by his captain. "I was enjoying meself," he protested, slightly drunk.  
  
"You're a married man," Jack reminded him. "And soon you'll be heading home to fair Elsie with a pocket full o' gold."  
  
"Mad," Bill said. "Mad, mad, mad."  
  
"Isla de Muerte," Jack said. "882 pieces of solid Aztec gold, mate. There for the taking, and I," he touched his fingers to his chest, leaning in to Bill's face, "I'm the one that's going to be taking it. Me and my crew."  
  
"Like I said, mad," Bootstrap repeated. "What're you blabbering on about, Jack?"  
  
Jack told him the story.  
  
"If it's cursed, then we shouldn't be chasing it," said Bootstrap, at the end.  
  
"It's not cursed," Jack said. "That'll be a mere ruse, a way of making sure old Cortés didn't snag the booty and run off with it. They didn't want him using it, did they? What sort of revenge would that be? Tell a bunch of gullible Spaniards that summat's cursed, they'll believe you."  
  
"Tell a daft pirate that there's gold hidden on an island I've never heard of, and he believes that," grumbled Bill. "Give it up, Jack. This place don't exist, and the gold's a myth. Let's go and have another drink."  
  
"Tomorrow," said Jack, "we sail for Tortuga. I promised Anamaria I'd drop her off there before goin' anywhere else. In Tortuga, we restock and set off. I'm finding this treasure, William Turner, with you or without you - savvy?"  
  
"You won't find it," Bill said.  
  
"Then if we don't find it, we'll find somethin' else," Jack pointed out. "There'll be ships in the area, same as anywhere else in the Caribbean. You've till Tortuga to decide whether you're coming - if not, you can leave the ship same as any other man who doesn't want to follow me."  
  
Bootstrap sighed. "Pulling rank on me now."  
  
"Well," said Jack, "I _am_ your captain."  
  
"Tonight, just be Jack Sparrow," Bill said, "and come and have another drink. Be the captain in the morning." 


	31. Chapter 31

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_  
  
----  
  
Jack stood on the quarterdeck and looked down at his assembled crew, who were clearly itching to be off the ship and getting drunk in Tortuga.   
  
"Well, me lubbers," he said, by way of preamble, "here we are again, back in old Tortuga. Saying goodbye to at least one of us." He indicated Anamaria. "Sending the lovely Ana off in style this evening at the 'Faithful Bride', should anyone wish to join me. I hope we won't be bidding anyone else farewell, but it's your choice as usual. Those who do join me when the _Pearl_ sets sail once more will have the chance of a share in the largest treasure the Caribbean has ever - ever - seen."   
  
A whisper of excitement ran through the men. Jack grinned at them.   
  
"On the Isla de Muerte," he said, "is a ransom of gold pieces, Aztec gold. I'm going after it. Any man who joins me gets an equal share."   
  
The crew shuffled their feet and exchanged glances. Finally, one of the topmen spoke up.   
  
"Cap'n ... d'you know how many men have hunted that there treasure?"   
  
"Not that I recall, Jim," Jack said. "Why don't you tell me?"   
  
"Hundreds," said Jim. "And there's barely a handful of 'em come back. The island can't be found." His voice held a tremor. "They do say that the treasure be cursed."   
  
"Two things," Jack said, holding up two fingers. "One. Curses don't mean a bleedin' thing. Even if the treasure was cursed, which it isn't, it was placed on the crew of Cortés, and we're not them. Two. I know where the Isla de Muerte is to be found. We will find it, and we will come back - rich. Richer than your wildest dreams, gentlemen." He swept his gaze across the crew. "If you don't want to join me, there's the shore. But me and the old lady and anyone who fancies it are picking up that gold." Nobody said anything. Jack adjusted his hat. "I'll be in me cabin, should there be any questions."   
  
He walked briskly down the steps leading to the main deck, and the crew parted to let him pass.   
  
That afternoon, it seemed that there was a constant stream of pirates wishing to leave the _Black Pearl_. None of them mentioned the Aztec treasure directly, but Jack understood that they did not believe it could be found, and did not want to embark on what they saw as a risky venture to look for it. He paid them off and crossed their names out of the ship's articles philosophically enough, but he was sorry to see them go.   
  
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, and the captain's cabin filled with a sultry golden light, Anamaria arrived to receive her pay. She had told Jack of her wish to go ashore for a while several weeks earlier, and he had reluctantly agreed. Anamaria, despite being a woman, pulled as much weight aboard the _Black Pearl_ as any man, and the friendship that had begun fifteen years before endured still.  
  
Jack had set aside Anamaria's earnings earlier, and now gave them to her in a small pouch. "There you go."   
  
"Thanks, captain," she said.   
  
He inclined his head in acknowledgement. "I wish you were coming to get this treasure."   
  
"I hope you come back from finding it," she returned. "Jack, I have heard these tales - a curse is not something to be taken lightly."   
  
"Do you believe that havin' a woman aboard a ship curses the ship?" he said. "Course you don't. There's no curse, love. And even if there was - I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?"   
  
She smiled, and shook her head. "Savvy. _Allez_, Jack: coming for this drink or not?"   
  
He jumped up from his seat. "Rum calls. Me lady?" He offered her his arm, and Anamaria left the _Black Pearl_ escorted in style by her captain.   
  
The "Faithful Bride" was that night full of noise and laughter and the raucous singing of sea shanties, as Jack's crew gave Anamaria a proper pirate's farewell. In fact, the night might better have been described as a send off for all the men leaving the ship, as they turned out in force. The rum flowed, coins changed hands, and the mood was buoyant. Those who were staying aboard the _Pearl_ spoke optimistically (and drunkenly) about the prospect of treasure and what they would do with new wealth should they find it. Those who were leaving mocked their former crewmates light-heartedly. Jack was called upon to tell his tales of adventure on the high seas, and he did so more than willingly.   
  
Anamaria slipped away after midnight, but the men stayed in the tavern getting steadily more drunk. Eventually, Bootstrap fell asleep with his head on the table, and Jack staggered away with a girl who had been sitting on his lap for the past hour, playing seductively with one of his braids.   
  
The next morning did not happen. Jack awoke in the arms of his girl from the previous night towards mid-afternoon, suffering from an appalling headache. For a while he lay with his head comfortably resting on the girl's soft chest, but eventually decided he should try getting up. It proved to be a slow process, and one that necessitated many pauses, some groans, and one tense moment over the basin in the corner of the room.   
  
The girl watched him dress, leaning on her elbow. As he carefully pulled on his coat, she slid out of bed and came to tie his headscarf for him, letting her hand trail down a braid.   
  
He turned and took the hand. "Got a thing about me hair, haven't you, love?"   
  
"It's nice," the girl said.   
  
"Ta." Jack felt in a pocket and pressed a coin into her hand. "Here you go. Had fun last night."   
  
"You don't remember," she said, taking the coin and turning it in her fingers. "None of you ever remember."   
  
Leaning down to the girl, Jack kissed her. "I remember, love. Thanks." He flourished his hat, bowed, and made for the door, walking carefully. The girl watched him go.   
  
"Liar," she said, as the door closed.   
  
Back aboard the _Black Pearl_, Jack took stock of the crew who had left him the day before, and calculated that he needed at least fifteen more hands to sail to the Isla de Muerte. Twelve would suffice. Twenty would be wonderful. He sighed, and rubbed his brow.   
  
Some more rum helped the headache, and once Jack had splashed some water on his face and reapplied the kohl around his eyes, he felt more himself. It was with his usual swagger and sway that he headed once more for Tortuga town, in search of men who would accompany him on his treasure hunt.  
  
Nobody in the first two taverns he visited was looking for a ship, it seemed. At any rate, those men who heard that Jack was looking for a crew to sail to the Isla de Muerte said that they were happy where they were, for the moment. Jack shrugged, and moved on.   
  
The third tavern, the "Cracked Cauldron" was dim inside and cool, out of the blistering sun. Jack took off his hat and let his eyes adjust to the light before moving further in. There seemed to be a fairly large group of men, perhaps ten of them, seated around a large table in the corner of the tavern, and Jack set off towards them.   
  
"Gentlemen!" he said, as he got close. "Might you be looking for a vessel?"   
  
"A vessel?" The man speaking was wearing a large, flamboyant hat with a feather, and he had his back turned to Jack. "Why, yes, we might be indeed." He looked around. "If it ain't Jack Sparrow!"   
  
"Barbossa!" said Jack. "Fancy seein' you here."   
  
"Ah, well," said Barbossa, "you get all sorts in Tortuga, as I'm sure you know well. Looking for a crew, are you, Captain Sparrow?" He indicated a spare seat at the table. "Lads, make room for the captain."   
  
Jack sat down, and a tankard of ale was pushed across to him. "Thanks," he said, and drank.   
  
"So, Captain Sparrow," Barbossa prompted, "why the sudden need for crew?"   
  
"Going after a big prize," Jack said.   
  
"And what prize would that be?" asked Barbossa, his expression curious.   
  
"The gold of the Isla de Muerte," said Jack, and gave them the tale. "I'm prepared to offer equal shares of the treasure, should we find it - and we will find it."   
  
Barbossa's eyes were glinting. "The fabled Aztec gold!" he said. "How about that, lads?"   
  
The other men around the table exchanged glances. One of them, a chunky fellow with straggly, greasy hair, said: "But isn't it cursed?"   
  
Everyone looked at Jack, who put down his tankard. "So they say. Depends on whether you believe that, don't it? Try your luck with me and find out, Mr ..."   
  
"Pintel," the chunky one said.   
  
"Maybe we will," Barbossa said. "Equal shares, you say, captain?"   
  
"Equal shares," said Jack.   
  
"And how many men are you looking for, Captain Sparrow?" asked Barbossa.   
  
"How many men could you bring me, Mr Barbossa?" Jack returned.   
  
"Maybe twenty," Barbossa said. "These fine fellows here, and there's a few more good 'uns in Tortuga at the moment."   
  
Jack looked around at the group. He recognised some of the men as having sailed under him before, when the _Black Pearl_ had rescued Barbossa and his fellows following their shipwreck. There was the tall, tattooed man whose name Jack had never caught; a shorter pirate with cannon fuses tied in his beard; and a number of others.   
  
"Twenty?" he said.   
  
"Maybe," Barbossa nodded. He reached for an apple from the bowl in the middle of the table, and bit into it. "If the offer's a good 'un," he added, through a mouthful.   
  
"Like I said, equal shares," Jack repeated.   
  
"And me as your first mate," Barbossa said.   
  
That brought Jack up short. He had been thinking that he had successfully recruited all the rest of the men he needed - but he did not need a mate. When Dick Welsh left the _Pearl_ six months earlier, Jack promoted Bobbie MacPherson to first mate and Bill Turner to second. MacPherson, in his turn, had expressed his doubts about the sense of the Isla de Muerte voyage, and had gone the night before. Jack was planning to make Bootstrap first mate, thus elevating him back to the position he had been in the day Jack first took command of the ship.   
  
"I've got one," he said.   
  
"That's the deal, Captain Sparrow," Barbossa replied. "My lads, and me as your first mate, or you can go and search for crew elsewhere."   
  
Jack held the other man's crooked gaze, and considered. He still did not entirely trust Barbossa's men, but he remembered that Barbossa himself had been a good, able crewmember for several weeks. He had not yet given Bill Turner the post of first mate; had not even mentioned that he planned to. He would not be going back on his word, any word - and he needed the hands that Barbossa could bring.   
  
He pushed back his chair. "We have an accord," he said, and held out a hand.   
  
Barbossa stood too, and shook. "An accord." Turning to the men around the table, he said: "Your next ship's the _Black Pearl_, gents."   
  
"Come aboard later today or tomorrow," said Jack. "We sail in three days for the Isla de Muerte."   
  
Barbossa raised his tankard. "To Captain Jack Sparrow," he said, "and the treasure he'll bring us."   
  
There was a responding, resounding chorus of "treasure!" Jack grinned, gave his new crew a bow, and headed out into the Caribbean sunshine. 


	32. Chapter 32

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_  
  
----  
  
"Make for Jamaica, Mr Turner!" said Jack, as they glided out of the harbour. "Trim the foresail, Mr Ragetti!"  
  
The orders were echoed across the deck. The _Black Pearl_ was on her way.   
  
Aboard the ship, there was a frisson of excitement and anticipation. Somewhat to Jack's surprise, the arrival of twenty new crew members (and Barbossa's pet monkey) had been greeted with equanimity by the existing pirates. In the two days preparing to sail, there were no fights and few arguments. Bootstrap and Barbossa remembered each other and seemed to be getting along. Everything was, Jack thought, wonderful.   
  
He watched Tortuga slipping astern. The sails were set now, and Bootstrap was holding the _Pearl_ steady on her course. As the crew settled to their cleaning and mending tasks, Jack pulled off his boots and coat and laid them aside before grasping a shroud and swinging himself up into the rigging. Toes grasping the rope with practised ease, he climbed up to the top of the mainmast, where he dismissed the lookout and settled down comfortably, humming a shanty to himself.   
  
Six days later they were well past the coast of Jamaica and were beating their way steadily in a south-westerly direction. Jack was at the helm, occasionally glancing at his peculiar compass, guiding his beloved ship with a firm hand. He had been there for a watch and a half already, with his men bringing him food and drink at intervals.   
  
Bootstrap Bill came up the steps to the quarterdeck, and watched his captain silently for a few minutes.  
  
"Got a problem, Mr Turner?" Jack said, eventually.   
  
"You cannot steer this vessel all the way to the island," Bill returned. "How far is it yet?"   
  
"Two, mebbe three days, with this wind," Jack said. "Can't be sure, can I, having never been there myself."   
  
"Let me take the helm, cap'n," Bootstrap suggested. "Finish this watch."   
  
"No thanks," said Jack. "I'm fine. The old lady's in good hands."   
  
Bill came a little closer, and lowered his voice. "Jack, please. Give me the bearing, let me have the helm."   
  
Fingers caressing the wheel, Jack shook his head. "I'm wide awake, Bill. I'll stay wide awake. Go an' ..." he waved a hand, "go and play cards, or something."   
  
"Jack," Bill tried.   
  
"That's an order, Mr Turner," Jack said, and Bill sighed and went away.   
  
Night fell. They were in open waters, and there were no other ships in sight. A lantern swung on either side of the _Black Pearl_, throwing a small pool of illumination into the darkness. Jack stood at the helm, legs braced, hands resting on the wheel, willing the vessel onwards.   
  
At eight bells, the watches changed. The crew who had been on board went below, and men came up on deck, yawning and pulling on warm clothes. As he disappeared to get some sleep, Bootstrap threw Jack a look, but said nothing.   
  
Barbossa crossed to the helm, his monkey chattering on his shoulder.   
  
"Keep that little blighter away from me," Jack said, not taking his eyes away from the set of the sails.   
  
Reaching his hand up, Barbossa stroked the monkey's back. "Still haven't given him a name."   
  
"Don't much care if you never do," said Jack.   
  
"Shall I be taking the helm now, captain?" Barbossa asked, swiftly changing the subject. "You must be tired."   
  
"Not at all," Jack answered, smoothly. In fact he was starting to feel a little weary, but the adrenalin coursing through his veins was enough to keep him alert for a good while yet.   
  
Barbossa, unlike Bootstrap Bill, did not press the point, but went off forward to speak to one of the other men, leaving Jack alone at the helm.   
  
Throughout that night, Jack steered the _Black Pearl_ towards the Isla de Muerte. The watch changed another time, and Bill Turner came to the helm, saw that his captain was not giving up control of his ship in the near future, and went away. At dawn, the sun rose, sending golden red rays across the horizon before the _Pearl_'s bow. The wind held steady, in the right direction, and the water foamed beneath the keel.   
  
Jack was tired, now, and he was beginning to wonder if he should divulge the island's location to one or both of his mates. He had hoped to take the _Black Pearl_ all the way to their destination, keeping the bearings to himself, but as he stood yawning in the morning sun he was beginning to be less than sure that he would be able to concentrate for that length of time. Lashing the wheel steady for a few moments, when nature called, was one thing; but the ship needed another man's hand on her if Jack was to get some sleep.   
  
He accepted some food and a cup of strong black coffee from the ship's Dutch cook, Pieter, and ate at the helm, considering options. On the foredeck, some of the men were gathering, and briefly Jack wondered what they were doing. They were mostly the men who had come with Barbossa - one-eyed Ragetti, his constant companion Pintel, straggle-haired Twigg.   
  
Barbossa appeared on deck, putting on his enormous, flamboyant hat, and glanced over at the foredeck. Jack took out his compass, checked their course, and put it away again.   
  
A few minutes later, Bootstrap Bill and Barbossa came up to the helm together. Bill was looking tired and a little stressed, his handsome face drawn. In contrast, Barbossa seemed particularly cheerful.   
  
"Morning, gentlemen," Jack greeted them.   
  
"Jack, you have to give us the bearings," Bootstrap said, without preamble.   
  
"That's Captain Sparrow, Mr Turner," Jack reminded his old friend.   
  
Bill shook his head. "Not now, Jack. C'mon ... I remember the day you came aboard this ship, a scrawny little nipper. I'm not asking as your mate, here, I'm asking as a friend. Tellin' you. Give us the bearings."   
  
"I remember as well as you the day I boarded the _Pearl_," Jack said. "But I can't quite see, Bill, what that has to do with the bearings for the Isla de Muerte. Apparently you seem to think I can't take us there."   
  
"It ain't that," Bootstrap said.   
  
"I reckon it's time our good captain had the facts of things explained to him," Barbossa cut in. Bill Turner threw Jack a helpless look, an expression Jack could not remember seeing on his old friend's face before.   
  
Barbossa folded his arms. "'Tis like this, _Captain_ Sparrow. You'll give me the bearings for the Isla de Muerte, or my men will draw their blades on yours. You told me equal shares - I figure that means equal shares on the location of this island, too."   
  
"Equal shares of the treasure, mate," said Jack, taking a hand off the helm to make his point. "Of the treasure."   
  
"But to get the treasure, we need to get to the island," Barbossa said. "The men all agree. We'll not follow a captain who won't share that information."   
  
Jack looked from one to the other, and deliberately took his hands off the helm. Without his restraining hold, the ship shuddered a little, and lost some of her wind.   
  
The pirates were gathering now on the main deck, watching the events unfold. They had split into two groups, Barbossa's men by far the larger of the two. Hands rested on sword-hilts.   
  
"You'd mutiny?" Jack asked.   
  
"If you wish to call it that, aye," Barbossa agreed. "We're mutinying."   
  
At a signal from Barbossa, the men who had joined the ship in Tortuga drew their swords. With a pang, Jack saw that some of his old crew had drawn also, and seemed to be siding against him. He looked at Bootstrap, who failed to meet his gaze.   
  
"I saved your rotten lives," Jack said, turning back to Barbossa. "Wasn't for me, you'd have starved to death those years back on that island."   
  
"And we're grateful for it," Barbossa said. "The bearings, if you please, Captain Sparrow."   
  
Some of Barbossa's men were advancing, step by step, on Jack's outnumbered crew. Suddenly, with a yell, Pieter the cook whipped out his cutlass and attacked the dreadlocked Koehler. There was a clash of blades, a flash of red, and Pieter dropped to the deck.   
  
Silence fell. All eyes turned to Jack.   
  
He looked from one man to another, trying to read their faces, trying to order his jumbled thoughts. Trying to think of a plan that would get him, and his loyal men, out of this situation, with the _Black Pearl_ securely in their hands, and with no more lives lost.   
  
He came up with nothing.   
  
"Please, Jack," Bootstrap said, his expression imploring.   
  
Jack reached slowly inside his coat and withdrew the chart he had marked back in Havana, unfolding it.   
  
"I reckon we're here," he said, pointing out the _Black Pearl_'s current position. "You're aiming for here." He showed them the cut in the chart that indicated the Isla de Muerte.   
  
Barbossa took the chart, glanced at it, and folded it away inside his own coat. "Wise decision, Jack," he said. "Bo'sun!"   
  
The tall tattooed bo'sun came striding up to the helm. "Aye, cap'n?" he growled.   
  
Barbossa smiled, unpleasantly. "Bind Mr Sparrow's hands," he said, "and send someone to fetch his effects from below. He'll be needing a pistol."   
  
Rope was produced from somewhere, and Jack's hands bound in front of him. The bo'sun marched him down the steps to the main deck, where the rest of Barbossa's men had already subdued and confiscated the blades of those of Jack's crew who looked likely to put up a fight. Those men stood aside, six or seven of them, glaring at their captors and crewmates. Pieter's body lay on the deck, blood running into the scuppers and discolouring the clean boards. Already someone had laid a plank out over the water, and now Barbossa called for the ship to heave to. His men sprang to obey, and Jack Sparrow watched as the other man commanded his vessel.   
  
The _Black Pearl_ came to a halt, her sails slack.   
  
Barbossa put an arm around Jack's shoulders, and pointed with his free hand. "See that there islet, Jack?"   
  
Jack nodded, managing to stitch a smile onto his lips. "I see it."   
  
"That'll be yours. We have your things - one pistol, your sword - as the Code demands."   
  
"The Code," said Jack, "demands obedience to your captain. Reckon you've broken it already, mate."   
  
"That'll be Captain Barbossa, thank'ee," Barbossa returned. "So you'll not be wantin' the pistol, then?"   
  
"No, no," Jack hastened to reply. "I'll have the pistol. One shot, I suppose?"   
  
"One shot."   
  
"I'll save it," Jack said. "I swear to you, Barbossa, that shot will be for you, one day. Some day. No man takes the _Black Pearl_ from me and gets away with it."   
  
"You'll use the shot on yourself within a week," Barbossa said. "We'll drink a toast to you, Jack, when we've found your Aztec treasure and become rich men." He gave Jack a push. "Off you go."   
  
Jack stepped up on to the plank. "Well," he said, "I'll be seeing you."   
  
"No, you won't," Barbossa repeated.   
  
Accepting the bundle that was his sword, belt and a single pistol with a single shot in it, Jack grinned. "You're forgetting one thing, mate."   
  
"What's that?" asked Barbossa.   
  
Jack looked past Barbossa to the helm, where Bootstrap was standing alone with one hand on the wheel. Bill dropped his gaze away, and Jack shrugged, before turning back to his mutinous mate. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?"   
  
And with those words, he turned, and executed a perfect dive into the ocean below.   
  
It was a long way to the islet Barbossa had chosen to maroon him on, and with hands tied, it took Jack a long time to kick his way there. But he made it, eventually, and staggered ashore, dropping his effects on the sand.   
  
He turned, and looked out to sea. The dark sails of the _Black Pearl_ had been hoisted, and the ship was setting her course west-south-west, towards the Isla de Muerte. She looked graceful, powerful, and unutterably beautiful.   
  
Jack Sparrow, bedraggled and alone, sat down on the beach and watched his ship recede until she was no more than a dot on the horizon.   
  
**THE END.**  
  
----  
  
_**Author's note:** Many, many, many thanks to everyone who reviewed and encouraged and offered historical advice and so on throughout this. Especial thanks to the crew of the Black Pearl Sails Fanfiction group, and those reviewers who have come back time and time again. You know who you are.  
  
Several people said "you must continue this until it gets to the movie". But I see those ten years between mutiny and movie as a separate tale - _Flight of the Sparrow_ was, in effect, the story of Jack and the _Black Pearl_. However I am going to carry on, because he's still looking over my shoulder and pointing out that there are lots of stories left to tell. So keep an eye out for the sequel, _With Clipped Wings_. It'll be along shortly.   
  
Thanks again. And if you've been silently reading, and hopefully enjoying, do let me know!_


End file.
